


Caledonian Adventures: A Sequel

by Bardwich



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Arguments, Brothels, Charlilia, Descriptions of Injury, Drumfred, F/F, F/M, Fanfic sequel, Grief, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insults galore, Laudanum, M/M, Makeup Sex, Making Up, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of War, Molly House, Nonbinary Character, Not Cheating, Smoking, Swearing, lots of adult snuggling, not that many I'm not a medic okay, period accurate homophobia, shots fired, sorry I don't mean to advertise these things but medicine was shite at the time, well maybe look I don't make the rules as a writer THESE IDIOTS JUST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bardwich/pseuds/Bardwich
Summary: It's 1855 and the Crimean War has called back Edward and Alfred to London. Life is tense as they battle their obligations and ambitions, and disturbing news about a certain injured Captain cause further trouble in paradise. Meanwhile, Charlotte and Cecilia get more than they bargained for on a night out. Can they run from their past once and for all? And what the hell happened to that footman? Three trying days will make or break relationships, and perhaps heal more than just broken bones.
Relationships: Alfred Paget (1816-1888)/Original Male Character(s), Charlotte Drummond/Cecilia Wyndham, Edward Drummond (1792-1843) & Alfred Paget (1816-1888), Edward Drummond (1792-1843)/Alfred Paget (1816-1888)
Kudos: 8





	Caledonian Adventures: A Sequel

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an epilogue to Caledonian Adventures, the full, multi-chapter fic I finished a little over a month ago. 
> 
> Read it from the beginning here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298268/chapters/55800589
> 
> 25k words is no longer an epilogue but a sequel. It's a good 3-hour read, to be honest. Oops?
> 
> Although the timeline is not exactly precise, the invalid's injury and eventual fate were taken from his real biography, don't sue me!
> 
> I just wanted to show that people can be happy with someone and happy alone and unhappy with someone and unhappy alone and people can stay friends or stay entangled and all this could change and turn around as people change themselves. I hope it makes sense by the end of this. Or at least I hope some of it makes sense and gives some sort of comfort or at least melodramatic second-hand emotions. You love to see it.
> 
> Oh, and you must know this by now but just in case you start with the sequel, because you're quirky like that--who am I to tell you how to live your life, eh?--Ben Barnes for Will Peel. <3 In the hopes you will be more forgiving at THAT part. Towards me and the characters I so love to torment...
> 
> There's light at the end of the tunnel, I promise. I promise. *laughs nervously*

_August, 1855_

The first trains of the day pulled in at the station in a flurry of steam and dust. Handled by a host of workers, delivery boys, shouty drivers, and newsboys vying for a tip from moneyed gentlemen in fancy parts of the city, finally, a crate of letters was on its way directly to Downing Street, where it was unpacked and distributed by the reception staff. One look was enough to know which bundles were to go on the shelves and which were to be taken upstairs without haste: upstairs, where all departments were already busy with sleep-deprived government officials in heated debates about war tactics.

‘I suggest we strike without waiting for back up—’

‘But sir, with all respect, without the navy, the army’s numbers are just not enough—’

‘We must act now—’

‘The lieutenant advises caution—’

‘To hell with what the lieutenant—’

There was a knock on the door.

‘The latest reports, sir,’ the page boy said.

‘Leave them on the table.’

‘Drummond.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Edward was glad to leave the drawing board in favour of sorting out the heap of letters dumped on his desk in his absence. What a mess! He made quick work of sorting them out into neat piles.

He was so behind! He had been touring the north to devise recruitment and supply strategies, without his supervisors, so this was a great responsibility and he was exhausted. Fresh off the train and back in the office, he was welcomed by yet more work. He tackled the envelopes and dossiers right away, wondering what fresh hell they would bring this time.

He didn’t have to dig too deep to find out. More bad news. Awful, actually.

Perhaps selfishly, he thought at least it would give him the perfect excuse to take a minute off to see him. Without much ado, he pocketed the report, got his hat and coat, and left for the Palace.

‘Mr Drummond,’ Penge said and bowed deeply. ‘Her Majesty is in the courtyard—’

‘It is Lord Alfred that I have come to see. Is he in?’

‘Why, yes, sir. I must inform you, however, that he is due to leave for Windsor within the hour—’

‘Then he has time enough for me. If you could…’

‘Right away, sir,’ the butler said, showed Edward into a salon and left to fetch the Chief Equerry.

In the courtyard, the carriage looked like it was headed on an expedition to the south pole rather than a weekend away. Cecilia imagined Charlotte’s face if she’d told her as much and chuckled to herself.

‘What amuses you so, Lady Paget?’ the Queen demanded of her while she was fanning herself with her lacy little fan as if it helped the fact that she was dressed in heavy clothes from head to toe despite the hot day.

‘Nothing, ma’am,’ Cecilia lied and excused herself as she spotted Wilson. ‘Where is Alfred? We are all waiting for him,’ she asked him while he secured another suitcase on the back of the carriage.

One look of the valet and she knew they had to step aside for discretion.

‘What is it?’

‘Mr Drummond’s come to call on his lordship.’

‘Now?’

‘Apparently not for long. They’re in a salon.’

Cecilia, mad with curiosity, tutted under her breath. ‘Well, I can’t leave Her Majesty’s side now.’

Wilson shrugged and took his place to await orders.

Edward paced around the salon like a shadow. It felt odd to be standing in a pretty room like this after his trip in the north. He was too weary, fresh off the train, and impatient to be taken in by the gold and crystal that glittered wherever he looked, frustrated at this giant jewellery box while so many men were clawing through mud on the battlefields in the East even that second for lack of supplies. He fixed a vase on the mantlepiece that stood at an angle, as if that resolved the utter disorganisation in the world.

‘Edward!’ Lord Alfred appeared alone, having sent the butler away. His tired blue eyes softened at the sight of his love. ‘You’re back from the tour! How glad I am to see you!’ he said with a warm smile, wishing he could kiss him.

Alas, Edward didn’t return his smile at all, and he flinched away from the touch of his hand, shooting concerned looks towards the window and the glazed door.

‘Edward?’

‘Not here.’

‘Make an allowance for me, my love, I have not clapped eyed on you for _weeks_ ,’ Alfred whispered in a voice not devoid of pain. Once again, his attempt at gentleness fell flat, not for the first time since the war began and duty called them both back to London. ‘Come upstairs, we’ll say it’s confidential government business…’

‘We don’t have time.’

‘Right, then. What brings you here? If not me,’ he asked with a little edge.

‘It is you,’ Edward said covertly, wishing he could express his proper sentiments. Alas, he came on a sorry business. ‘At least, I believe it concerns you…’

Edward produced the report. It was a single sheet of paper, but Alfred looked at it like it was a shell that could explode any second. After the loss of both his beloved parents, what could come next? Was it George this time? Or Septimus? He didn’t want to know. However, he didn’t have to audacity to refuse to brave a piece of paper when there was a war on. So, he took it and braced himself for the worst.

He only needed to check which column had a name he recognised and he looked up at Edward with both relief and dread.

‘Where is he now?’ he asked.

‘At sea, I presume.’

‘Where else?’ Alfred said sarcastically and opened up a window to breathe and think. It was an irritatingly perfect midsummer’s day, offering no breeze, no relief. ‘Does Lady Peel know?’ he asked Edward with the practicality of his class.

‘I am not certain. I came to you at once. I should not think so. They failed to wire, even to our office.’

‘For a month!?’

‘It happens.’

‘Not with a captain, it doesn’t.’

‘Perhaps that was precisely why they didn’t message ahead, lest the Russians intercepted it and took advantage of their luck.’

‘Their “luck”!?’

‘I didn’t mean—you know what I meant,’ Edward sighed, too exhausted to explain himself.

‘I know precisely what you mean with that dry talk you picked up at your precious war office of late. But not to even tell his own mother…’

‘Did he not write?’

‘Not recently.’

‘I thought he would have to you.’

‘Well, he hasn’t.’

This statement lingered in the air horribly. It could mean anything, worst of all that the injured Captain had been unconscious for weeks.

‘Perhaps it is his writing arm,’ Edward said as if it helped to comfort him.

Alfred turned away uncomfortably. Even from the window, he could feel the summer’s stifling air. God knew he had been longing for the Highlands or for the sea and to get out of his stiff clothes, itching to do something. He was stuck back at the Palace, however, most frustratingly barred from action. He wondered how quickly any injury festered in this heat on the battlefield, or aboard a ship, for that matter. For what it was worth, he sent a prayer up to God or Providence or any deity or higher power there was to perish even the thought and that his friend arrived home in one piece, not two.

‘I ought to call on his mother,’ he decided. ‘Either to find out whether she has heard or to inform her if she has not.’

‘Let me do that.’

‘No need.’

‘But you are about to travel to Windsor, are you not? You cannot abandon your duties.’

‘I can follow them later. This is a more urgent commitment. Her Majesty will understand. Besides, you know how Lady Peel… since Mama… I confess I should like to call on her, selfishly, too, if only to share some happy memories. Forgive me, this must be sentimental talk to you. But for what are we fighting the war if not to preserve our right to be human? And I am only that.’

‘I never said otherwise.’

‘I didn’t mean _I_ was falling short on that front.’

‘It’s just… my schedule is…’

‘God, never mind, I see you are itching to return to the House. You must do so and pretend nothing is amiss. In fact, you probably shouldn’t have shown me this,’ Alfred said, tossing the letter back to Edward unceremoniously.

Edward clamoured to catch the piece of paper mid-air. ‘Alfred, I would truly…’

‘Just go, I know you have important things to do.’

‘I really do, otherwise I’d…’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘When will I see you again?’ Alfred demanded for the hundredth time these past nearly three years. In fact, he heard himself at twenty, nagging William before he slid out of his bed and into his uniform without mercy.

‘When will you return from Windsor?’ Edward asked in a business-like manner.

‘On Wednesday. May I hope to see you at home in the evening?’

Edward bit his bottom lip.

‘ _What_?’ Alfred asked, somewhat testily.

‘Only, there a banquet in Downing Street on Wednesday.’

‘What sort of a banquet lasts all night?’

‘Not all night, but everyone knows the real conversations happen after dinner. I ought to stay for as long as it takes.’

‘As long as what takes? A promotion?’

‘To convince the guests of honour to donate to the cause—if it means a promotion, that’s just lucky.’

‘Right,’ Alfred said sardonically.

‘It’s a win for everyone, it’s only sensible not to pass it up.’

‘Can’t your father chip in? You two are inseparable nowadays.’

‘He _is_ one of the guests of honour. Don’t scoff! I mustn’t seem unreliable, he already chastises me for my mysterious fancy to move to Scotland in the past years and I have no real excuses for that, so the least I must do is show up to a damn dinner. It’s for the best.’

‘For the best. Oh, so you must stay for cigars as a sort of excuse for small talk between the big dogs. Well, have fun. Make sure to dance with all the ladies present, charm them _and_ their mothers, and make lots of deals over the billiard table. Will Lady Sophia be there? Bravo, Edward, you are just sailing to the top! Of course, it would be easier if you just got engaged, why not? Treat it as a gap year. For the funds. For the best.’

Edward’s sense of self-importance, or as he called it “professional pride”, aided him in enduring those unthoughtful words.

‘I know you have received upsetting news just now, Alfred, but I hardly think it is any excuse to be so harsh with me. You know me better than to assume all that of me.’

‘Invite me, then.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Invite me to the banquet. I should like to see you at work if you are indeed as wholesome as you say. It is a fundraiser for the war effort. I’m a military man. I should like to go, and perhaps even help. I would, more than anything if that’s the only way to see you more than in passing.’

Edward was struck by Alfred’s pained, blue eyes, but the idea was insane.

‘Oh, Alfred, my… I do not believe that’s possible. They did not confirm whether I can bring a… wife or… a… friend.’

It only added to Alfred’s pain to hear that. He stepped closer, wary of anyone seeing them in the line of the door but not too wary to say this while he had the chance:

‘Except I am not your wife, or your friend, Edward. I am your _husband_ in all ways but on paper. I am not one of those neglected baronets and duchesses around the queen either, whose husbands cast them aside whilst they build their own careers out there in the big world for big boys with big billiard sticks up their… What I am, however, is the Chief Equerry and Clerk Marshal to the Queen of England and Lieutenant of her Royal Horse Guards, and I will remind you, _Drummond_ , that I—’

Penge stepped in and Alfred fell silent powerlessly.

‘Would you like some tea, my lord and sir?’ the old butler asked, somewhat snobbishly at Edward’s lack of title.

‘No,’ Alfred replied, deflated.

Ever since they had been back in London because of the war, he had felt more under surveillance than ever before. Had it been like this before? After some blissful years in Scotland, he had trouble readjusting to this, and to the humiliation of having to beg for Edward to include him in his diary, like a chore.

‘I want my horse,’ he demanded of the butler instead.

‘Now, my lord?’

‘Right now.’

‘But Her Majesty—’

‘Can expect me in Windsor with a couple of hour’s delay tonight. My wife and my valet can travel ahead as normal. Well? Must I beg you to obey my orders, man?’

Penge did not need telling twice and left to do as told. Alfred turned back to Edward, who, reluctantly said:

‘I cannot invite you to the banquet, but I shall endeavour to make it home at a reasonable time upon your return. Will that suffice?’

Alfred’s mouth was gaping from surprise at just how unromantic that was, his heart longing for a past time when, even in this room, a stolen glance was enough to undo Edward and make him blush and giggle, like children giddy from sugar. He was ambitious then, but that was nothing compared to how he pushed his way upwards and onwards at the expense of time with Alfred nowadays. Seeing earnestness in Edward’s warm, brown eyes, however, he bit back a myriad of stinging words of argument.

‘Will you please promise me?’ he asked of Edward instead.

‘Alfred, I cannot be sure if…’

‘Just _promise_ me you’ll be in around midnight, so that we shan’t completely miss each other again like ships passing in the night! Is that too much to ask? Surely, the war shan’t be lost because you are not the last guest to leave a party. On a Wednesday.’

Edward bit his bottom lip and avoided Alfred’s eyes.

‘Yes. I promise. But Alfred—’

‘Shh.’

Penge appeared in the doorway again. ‘Your horse is ready, my lord.’

‘Thank you,’ Alfred said. Penge lingered, so he repeated himself pointedly: ‘ _Thank_ you.’

Penge got the hint and left them alone again.

‘I shall see you on Wednesday,’ Alfred said, with a gentle squeeze of Edward’s hand, though his obvious urge to flinch away in panic was only one more knife in Alfred’s heart. ‘ _If_ you can spare me a second of your time,’ he added dejectedly, therefore, and swept out the door.

Alfred rode to Lady Peel’s house with haste. She had not been informed.

He sat with her for a few minutes, but he could not offer more than what the report said, which was not much. He made sure to compliment her flowers, especially the roses that came from the late Lady Anglesey’s cuttings from years ago, the ones William delivered to her. They were planted next to three orange trees brought back from Syria more than fifteen years before that. Suddenly, Alfred was blind to the idyllic tableau for gruesome thoughts of injured and maimed men drifting across the unforgiving sea.

Having made better friends with her, he sensed Lady Peel had caught on that there was once more than friendship between him and her son, but she never explicitly alluded to it. She was too genteel for that. But Alfred needed some family warmth, even if peripheral, before he returned to his own duties safeguarding the queen and the increasingly sickly prince, though they were each other’s worst enemies in those days. Then again, love would do that to the best of us, he thought sadly, Edward on his mind.

He amused her with stories about the royal children to delay his departure, though he did not spend much time around them anymore. He was great with children, but he had been scolded for teaching them a couple of practical jokes, which he was bound to, as a Paget and being legally married to Cecilia, the worst jokester he knew. He was fairly sure Cecilia still encouraged Bertie and the others to be naughty, but he would hardly tell on her. Best he got the blame; he felt rather melancholic around such a big family with his own missing from his life, including his husband nowadays. Lady Peel spoke of Edward as kindly as ever, too. Alfred smiled for her sake and pretended his heart wasn’t aching.

At the end of the visit, Lady Peel promised she would send Alfred a note as soon as there was any news. All that was left was to wait.

And wait, he did. For Edward, all night on Wednesday.

‘Go to bed, Alfred. This is no good for you,’ Cecilia nudged him towards dawn when she found him in the salon of his house with a glass of scotch, still waiting up. Of course, she had been happy to be reunited with Charlotte as usual after the trip to Windsor, easy for her to say.

‘He _promised_ ,’ Alfred replied, disappointed but not surprised.

‘This is only temporary.’

‘It’s been years like this. How many more years is only a temporary situation? Tell me.’

‘Darling, Alfred,’ she said, massaging his shoulder gently. ‘I know these are strange times, but you’ll see, we shall all be back in Scotland soon enough.’

‘Hardly. That was a dream. And dreams, though they come true, end. You don’t even want to return. I see how you thrive in London society, now that you don’t have to hide. The court suits you, even Charlotte admits it. You love it, and there is nothing wrong with that.’

‘I don’t love it more than Charlotte. If she said she’d prefer to leave, I would follow. I suspect I will when I tire of it.’

Alfred sighed sadly. ‘Precisely. That’s where Edward differs from you.’

‘You mean he’s not likely to get tired of it all?’

‘That, too. True, he will not be satisfied until he leads from the top. But I think he could be _charmed_ away for good.’

Cecilia’s hands froze. ‘You’re not insinuating he… with someone else?’

The clock struck four.

‘His clothes are clearly in no hurry to turn back into rags. If I didn’t know him… but then… people change. For better, for worse.’

She had no reply to that, and Edward finally came home, so she tiptoed upstairs to avoid the row.

They were still at it when the first post came. Wilson interrupted their argument—someone had to—and handed Alfred a letter from Mrs Bell, of all people, which he tore open eagerly. Among a pile of important names in Edward’s stack, Florence’s fine handwriting stood out, and he wondered what that could be about, out of the blue. However, it had to wait because when he looked up, he saw Alfred shooting upstairs, where he began to pack immediately.

‘Alfred?’ Edward uttered in surprise, having run after him to their suite.

‘Look at us, in this bedroom, together, for a change!’ Alfred quipped sarcastically amidst scrambling to collect his things in a leather duffel bag he found in a cupboard. ‘Can’t remember the last time.’

‘What are you doing?’ Edward asked incredulously.

‘He is home,’ Alfred replied, not sparing him a look.

‘What, who—what!? _Home_? In England?!’

‘Yes, home, in Bedfordshire. The ship pulled in at Southampton a few days ago, the train missed London entirely, so he’s at home, yes. They didn’t want anyone to know of his removal from the front indeed, but Mrs Bell sent me a note, bless her. Someone does still care about me.’

‘And you are packing because…?’

‘I’m going to see him, of course, what does it look like?’

Edward started at that. ‘Y-you cannot.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Well, you can’t!’

‘Whyever not, Edward!?’

‘We ought to tell Lady Peel first,’ he said. ‘And only then…’

‘You are welcome to do that when you get away from your precious desk for a minute.’

‘Please, stop and let us discuss this over coffee with a clear head.’

‘Yes, some of us didn’t sleep last night.’

‘Do you delight in stabbing me so? Repeatedly?’

‘I take no amusement in any of this, Edward. But I’m not one of your secretaries for you to order about!’ Alfred replied determinedly, fastening his bag with finality and getting his traveling coat. ‘I’ll write as soon as I arrive. Not that you’d notice, not with that pile of invitations weighing you down.’

Alfred, for the first time ever, didn’t even go for a goodbye peck, he just stormed past Edward and down the stairs.

‘Alfred, wait!’ Edward called, hurrying in his wake. ‘Stop, please think about this for a second.’

‘What is there to think about?’ Alfred asked, getting his hat from the rack.

‘My lord?’ Wilson asked, dumbstruck in the salon’s doorway. ‘Are we… traveling somewhere?’

‘I am.’

‘Shall I…?’

‘No need. You just stay. Take some days off, whatever you want, I’ve no idea.’

Wilson took that flippancy as a cue to get lost and leave them to it, which he did, (though not before retrieving a pair of shoes by the umbrella basket before Lord Alfred spotted them), not that the whole house couldn’t hear them anyway, again:

‘Alfred, think, _think_ about how this looks!’ Edward pleaded fiercely to him.

‘And what does it look like to me, do you think, when you promise, after weeks of absence, to get home by midnight, which is really not much to ask of my husband, yet you fail to do so, and then when you do eventually grace me with your presence in our home, you reek of your daddy’s cigar, Lady Sophia’s perfume, and God knows what disgusting brew of whisky I can smell on you.’

‘I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING BUT TALK AND SIT AT THE TABLE!’ Edward shouted desperately for the hundredth time, feeling like he was going crazy.

‘Have you got bored of me?’ Alfred had to ask, point blank.

Edward’s hands shot to his face and he might have started pulling out chunks of his own hair in his madness if his sense of duty didn’t drive him:

‘My _love_ , you are rushing to his bedside before his own _mother_ ,’ he talked to Alfred, almost condescendingly. ‘Before his own _commander_ could contact him and assess the damage.’

‘They’d have done all that in the east.’

‘And so they ought to at home! It’s the protocol.’

‘Well, lucky I am a military man and I happen to know the protocol just well enough. There you go, the perfect excuse: I am assessing him.’

‘Not you, Alfred. There were already rumours when he returned to London, with Queensberry spying on us and being awful until you married Cecilia—’

Alfred looked sharply at Edward. ‘I hardly think it matters, now that I _have_ married,’ he said, knowing this to be untrue.

‘But it does.’

‘Not to me,’ Alfred decided defiantly.

‘Well, it does to everyone else!’

‘Not to you,’ Alfred challenged. ‘And that’s all that matters to me. Since when have you paid more heed to what others think of us anyway? Don’t answer that. Anyway, it makes no difference to you these days where the hell I spend my time, since you are _never_ here.’

Edward nearly didn’t find his voice. ‘I… Alfred… of course, it does. Once again, I am sorry for not making it home in normal times, but there is a war on, and I am in the middle of something big that could end it at last!’

‘Don’t you tell me there is a war, I know perfectly well, thank you.’

‘Well, there is! And we have a chance to finish it within the year now, perhaps sooner! Wouldn’t that be amazing? We could go back to normal at last, but only after that!’

‘How can we go back to normal after this!?’

Edward’s eyelids fell shut as if in prayer for patience.

‘You need to understand that, just like your brothers and just like the Captain, I need to do my part until that day comes, Alfred.’

‘Climb the ladder, you mean? Or Lady Sophia’s stockings?’

‘Alfred, for the last time!’

‘Her brother’s then?’

‘Christ, Alfred, you have NO IDEA how much trouble I go through to protect us—’

‘“Trouble” is what you call stumbling home at four?’

‘I TOLD YOU, I was presiding over a private meeting between father and Lieutenant C—’

‘Yes, yes, a “meeting” under the cover of the night. A smooth-sailing career, indeed, one closed-door “meeting” at a time. Never thought I’d say this, but you do well without principles now that Sir Robert isn’t there.’

‘Papa may be difficult but he is a respectable man.’

‘Please do defend him, why don’t you? I’m sure he’s bursting with pride of you. What an opportunity for you: a war! Hurrah! Turns out, Sir Robert just held you back, and so have I, apparently! Good luck with your promotion, I’m off to see a real soldier.’

‘Alfred! You’re being unfair! Don’t think I don’t know what this is really about. I know it’s been a while but you have to control your needs.’

‘Excuse me?’ Alfred asked, now absolutely disgusted. ‘Do you think I’m some kind of common beast that lives for carnal desires? Seriously, Edward?! After all this time you still assume I’m…’

‘I said nothing of the sort, but you do have a _tendency_ to lose sight of things. You have to control your needs for the sake of the greater good.’

‘The greater good?’ Alfred repeated with a bitter laugh.

‘Well, yes, the war, to keep balance in Europe, and for that matter, to avoid our _personal_ risks in London. If the whole of Europe goes up in flames, we can look forward to this being our new reality for decades, and God forbid you end up drafted in that scenario! We are on the same side, Alfred. I need you, too, but we do not want anyone to grow suspicious of us.’

‘Of what? There is hardly anything to be suspicious of at all! Hurray, we are safe!’

‘I can’t believe this! I work and work so that no one—’

‘I _have_ asked for a commission, you know.’

Edward choked on his words.

‘E-Excuse me?!’ he stuttered in shock.

After all that shouting, the tall entrance hall seemed to echo with the silence.

‘Twice. I was refused, both times. No reason given as to why, though. I thought it might have your _most influential_ hand in it.’

‘Alfred!?’ Edward uttered, utterly stunned. Obviously, he had no knowledge of this whatsoever.

Alfred shrugged defeatedly.

‘Hits you when it is said out loud, does it not?’

Edward was totally dumbstruck. His Alfred going off to this gruesome war. No, unthinkable. And even more unthinkable was the fact he wanted to do so because of Edward. Was it entirely because of him, though? And then it hit him.

‘Good Lord, would you prefer to go East with _him_?’ Edward asked incredulously. ‘ _For_ him?’

Alfred dropped his bag in outrage. ‘You _cannot_ still be jealous of him!’

‘I am not jealous,’ Edward lied. ‘Look, if you must see him, at least wait, wait a little, let us discuss it reasonably. Wait a day, _my love._ Just one day.’

Alfred held his head up high. ‘If someone had told me to wait a second, let alone a day, before seeing you when _you_ were shot and injured, I would not have listened. Don’t you remember how I took care of you, brought meals up to your room, and bathed you, and read to you, and anything you needed for comfort? I would come rushing to you today if I knew you wanted me. _If_ you wanted me. One word and I’m there.’

‘Because you love me,’ Edward reasoned, but it came out completely wrong. It was as if he implied Alfred loved William like that, hence why he was running to him.

Alfred’s eyes hardened and he grabbed his bag.

‘I do love you,’ he said fiercely to Edward. ‘But he needs me now.’

Alfred turned on his heels to leave.

‘What if I _am_ jealous?’ Edward said without thinking.

‘That sounds like your problem, Edward…’

‘Don’t go.’

Alfred turned right around. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I don’t want you to go to him,’ Edward spelled out sternly.

‘Why not? So you can shout at me some more here?’

‘Please, just stay.’

‘Why?’

‘BECAUSE I AM ASKING YOU TO! That should be enough!’ Edward said more firmly now. ‘If you truly love me, you’ll stay. I’ll do better, my love, I’ll stay at home today, we can be together. Just like before.’

Despite all that was said, despite the letter, despite his anger, Alfred hesitated, tempted. Until…

‘Well, I have a meeting at four that I simply cannot miss but other than that—’

Alfred huffed indignantly and grabbed the doorknob.

‘Wait, Alfred, that’s not fair, I’m not as free as you.’

‘Exactly. I am free to do as I please,’ Alfred declared, tore open the front door and left without another word.

‘Alfred! Write! Do not fail to write, Alfred!’ Edward had to shout after him from the steps before he hailed a cab and left in a flair of anger.

‘Well done, brother dear,’ Charlotte said from the doorway coolly. ‘Really, superbly, horrendously, could-not-have-timed-an-argument-worse-ly done.’

Just what Edward was afraid of.

***

Charlotte brought a tray of iced lemonade in the garden. She had spent the morning with Edward and all she needed was a cold bath and her Cecilia.

‘Has he come to his senses yet?’ Cecilia asked, or her backside did, the only part of her sticking out of her ripe raspberry bushes.

Charlotte shook her curls free and dropped into a chair in the shade, fanning the back of her neck with her straw hat.

‘He did that without my help,’ she spoke, every word an effort in the heat.

‘There is hope, then.’

‘I don’t think there was ever any doubt about that. He’s just gone to take care of everything at the office. Prepare for a few angry visits from Papa. Edward said he’ll handle him, though. It didn’t hurt to remind him of all the tales we’ve heard about Alfred’s days with his captain…’

Cecilia emerged from the bushes, ignoring the leaves and the spider atop her straw bonnet.

‘But we swore never to taunt Edward with those stories.’

‘I only needed to tell him the one.’

‘Which one—Oh! Not the one about them sneaking into the gents at the theatre, right? Charlotte Drummond, tell me you did not.’

‘Desperate times, my beloved,’ Charlotte shrugged and stole a raspberry from the basket left on the grass.

‘Don’t!’ Cecilia chastised while rehoming the spider in the bushes. ‘It’s for the cake.’

‘What cake?’ Wilson quipped from the terrace, dressed in his own clothes.

‘You look sharp,’ Cecilia remarked with a big smile. ‘What’s the occasion?’

‘That’d be telling.’

‘You know, as you’ve stepped up as the butler as well as Alfred’s valet, we _can_ order you about as we wish,’ Charlotte reminded him. ‘You know, like a servant.’

‘Not on my day off, I’m afraid, Miss Drummond,’ he replied daringly. But it was true: given the unusual start to their relationship, with Cecilia pretending to be a housemaid, they were less formal than normal in other houses. ‘In case of emergency, however, let it be known that I shall be in Mayfair,’ he announced.

‘Well, that’s not very far from here. I thought you’d do something more exciting while Alfred is away.’

Cecilia chuckled. ‘He’s going to visit Mr Wood in his hotel, my dearest,’ she told her smartly. ‘Look at his grin! From reddened ear to reddened ear.’

‘Those days are long gone, ma’am,’ he replied with dignity. ‘He’s been made an honest man, Mr Wood has.’

‘And you? Can we expect to welcome a Mrs Wilson in our home anytime soon?’

‘Ah, what sort of a girl could I bring into this scandalous house?’ Wilson quipped half-seriously, and just stole a raspberry and left. The ladies had a little laugh about that.

‘Scandalous? Us? Nonsense! Sometimes I wish I had such as adventurous a life as the men around us!’ Cecilia sighed.

‘Wasn’t my duel with Queensberry adventurous enough for you?’ Charlotte asked indignantly.

‘It was marvellous, my dearest, but it lasted about fifteen minutes and he limped away with his tail between his legs.’

‘Would you have preferred I got shot?’

‘Never!’ Cecilia cooed, kissing Charlotte warmly to appease her. ‘But I can’t help it, I want to have some fun!’

‘Is the court no longer fun?’ Charlotte asked, secretly wishing for that day they can return to Scotland at last but not wanting to spoil Cecilia’s time in the sun.

‘As if! There are never any balls anymore.’

‘Not that you can dance…’

‘Charlotte!’

Now it was Charlotte’s turn to appease Cecilia with more kisses that never failed to sweep her off her feet.

‘Besides,’ Cecilia continued, ‘Her Majesty and the Prince’s marriage is just one big shouting match. On top of that, I used to adore children but between the Paget clan and the princes and princesses screaming all over the Palace, I have come to appreciate my peace. But then, peace is not fun. I want some _fun_!’

Charlotte was brought to a smile as Cecilia tugged on her shirt sleeves.

‘Well, I do know a place…’ she teased. Cecilia was intrigued. ‘Wilson mentioned a locale east of the City.’

‘Ohh, east?’

‘Oh, yes. At the docks. The kind of place where you enter a game of poker with more than just money at stake.’

‘Perfect! We must dress down for the occasion!’ Cecilia rejoiced and dragged Charlotte upstairs to perfect their disguises for the evening out.

‘Wait, no, not while Edward’s here.’

‘He’ll go after Alfred soon enough!’

‘But—’

‘Lucky I didn’t throw away my housemaid clothes!’

***

It was nearly dark by the time the train arrived at the house in Bedfordshire. Mrs Bell opened the door for Alfred and took his wet coat and hat from him. He saw that the house had not been readied. The furniture was still largely covered with white, linen sheets to protect them against the dust.

‘Where is he?’ he asked.

Mrs Bell grabbed a candle and inclined for him to follow her upstairs.

Alfred had only been in this house a couple of times, back when Michael used to visit. When they all moved back from Scotland to London, the dirt and dust of the big city didn’t agree with a by then widowed Mrs Bell, and she was snatched up by the Captain to take care of his house in the country. She was like a fairy godmother when Will and Michael were in England. That time was gone, the world seemed greyer and darker, every year, with every loss.

They reached a door upstairs. The sight inside knocked the wind out of Alfred. He thanked Mrs Bell and asked to be left alone in a voice so hollow it felt like someone else was speaking.

He lingered before he sat on the bed gingerly, but the invalid stirred from a light and troubled sleep:

‘Alfred?’ William guessed with closed eyes.

‘How did you know?’

‘Hmm. For a second I thought I was twenty again and back in Syria.’

‘I do _not_ put on that much perfume.’

‘No, but I would recognise your scent in my sleep. In fact, I just did,’ he jested, coming to drowsily. ‘Hello, stranger.’

‘What the devil has happened to you?’ Alfred had to ask first thing.

‘Oh, this? It’s just a scratch.’

It was not just a scratch. William had been one of the dozen injured by a shell dropped at Redan. In June. His new aide-de-camp carried his limp, bleeding body to the tent under heavy fire from the Russians. He was patched up as best as possible, but still, he would not heal. Against his wishes, he was put on a ship back to England nearly a month ago. And now, there he was, in the comfort of his own home in England but still bundled up from knuckles to shoulder on the right arm and his nightshirt sticking to his pale, glistening skin. While his worst injury was hidden behind layers of bandages, there was also a scar across his temple to the eyebrow, his right eye was still faintly purple, and there was a cut across his cheek that had healed to be etched upon his face forever. It only made him more handsome anyway.

‘Why are you wet?’ he asked groggily.

Alfred tussled his wet, blond locks, dripping water everywhere.

‘I walked from the station. It has only just let off.’

‘Oh. I must have slept all day again. You should sit by the fire. Is there one going?’

‘No.’

‘There isn’t?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s summer. It even felt good.’

‘This room’s a furnace…’

‘Why didn’t you write?’ Alfred asked somewhat stupidly. William shot him a look, like it was obvious. ‘Oh, right. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t worry, Alfred, you know I am just as talented with my left hand,’ William said with a wink.

At that, Alfred suddenly teared up.

‘What, what did I say?’ William asked. ‘It was a joke. Alfred. Alfred?’

Alfred grabbed a cushion and started hitting William’s healthy parts.

‘You… Should… Have… Written… Had someone write…’

‘I was knocked out!’

‘I was… Out of my wits… Worry… Your mother…’

Will grabbed the cushion before he poked his eyes out, which helped him to be more alert as well.

‘Tell me Mama is not here. Please tell me, Alfred.’

‘No, I rushed here as soon as I got Mrs Bell’s letter. Edward’s probably told her since.’

‘Drummond’s not here?’

Alfred’s eyes grew dull. ‘No, I left him in London,’ he admitted curtly and lit a cheroot.

William sensed there was more to this. He sat up, wincing. Alfred jumped to help.

‘No, don’t, I’m fine,’ Will grumbled.

‘You’re really not.’

‘I am!’

‘At least the pillows…’

Will swatted away helping hands and grabbed the cigar out of Alfred’s mouth. ‘Now this helps,’ he said, smoking leisurely.

Alfred tutted and shook his head. It was only now he noticed the numerous vials on the bedside table.

‘God, what are they giving you?’

‘What aren’t they?’ William replied cheekily. ‘Help yourself.’

‘You don’t seem awfully dazed.’

‘Truth be told, I’d rather know how bad it is. The journey was a complete blur. It’s been a bloody month and I’m still like this, hardly improved. I just can’t seem to heal. I’d better wean myself off of all the, uh… just to assess how bad it is. No matter how painful it’ll be.’

Alfred paled. ‘By God, but are you in pain right now?!’

‘I don’t know, Alfred, my arm is cracked in multiple places and my skin was scorched off in the blast – am I in pain? Let me think,’ Will retorted rapidly. Upon Alfred’s horrified expression, though, he added airily: ‘No, I’m fine. Honest.’

‘Are you sure?’ Alfred asked, when Will bit back another wince.

‘I’m fine, really. Not as bad as it looks.’

‘But if you’re…’

‘I’m _fine_.’

‘You’d tell me if—’

‘Shut up now, will you?’

Alfred started. Now that he stopped running from his storm clouds, he realised he had little to offer to William. Perhaps company, though William seemed irritable, after all. Was this just another mistake?

‘Do you want me to leave?’ Alfred asked.

‘Why, is Drummond expecting you home by midnight?’

‘Hardly.’

‘Alright… Not going to ask. No need to nurse me, though. I’ve got one already, and a doctor lives in one of the cottages by the gates—why fuss so?’ Will said with a shrug that pained him—he forgot. ‘Blasted…’

‘What _is_ with you?’ Alfred exclaimed, mistaking that for an insult. ‘I’m here to help.’

‘What is with _you_?’ Will retorted savagely, busy trying to lie in a way that wasn’t too torturous. ‘You’re being a busybody, Alfred. Oh, Lord, you’re not doing what I think you’re doing, right? Good grief! Is this a charity call? To gawk at my misery, like on a visit to an orphanage? I don’t need to be pitied.’

‘Shall I just leave you to your laudanum, then? For heaven’s sake, Will, I’m here now, so there must be something I can do to help. I just want to do something.’

‘Before it’s too late, you mean?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Is this a visit or farewell? Have you come to my sickbed or my deathbed?’

‘William!?’ Alfred exclaimed, stepping away in fright.

‘Be honest, how bad do I look?’

‘You look… good.’

‘Lying won’t help. Or kindness. Or company. Moreover, it won’t bring _him_ back. Nothing ever brings anyone back.’

‘Oh, stop, you’re impossible,’ Alfred spat, fed up. He sat on the windowsill and lit another cigar for himself. ‘I only mean well.’

‘How saintly of you. Alas, your journey was wasted. I don’t want you to see me like this.’

‘Can you not possibly entertain the idea that I might have simply come to see you regardless of your wellbeing, since you were abroad for months, and we are friends, and I care about you? Is it so impossible that I have no agenda or ulterior motive? That I simply thought that you could use some company, as could I? Clearly, I am not wanted, by anyone. Never mind. I suppose I just had to see you for myself. I always did when we were… younger.’

‘Just to see if I was fit to, uh…’

‘Oh! …Well, perhaps, at first,’ Alfred admitted, biting back the ghost of a grin. ‘But then, I just wanted to see you well. I still do.’

‘Well, as you can see, I’m fine, Alfred.’

‘You are not fine, you are broken.’

‘Bruised, maybe, not broken!’

‘You’ve never been this badly hurt, Will.’

‘If you’ve come to play doctor, I’ve got something for you to look at under the covers…’

‘Enough!’ Alfred scolded, though he couldn’t help but laugh; William was pleased.

‘Why have you really come, darling?’

‘I came because…’ Alfred trailed off, confused at his own actions.

‘Because you didn’t want me to be alone?’ William asked. ‘Because we left Michael alone and it was a mistake. I am not him. I’m a big boy, I have been managing so far.’

‘Yes, yes, you’re always strong and invincible,’ Alfred said sardonically. ‘I knew you would do this, you know.’

‘What?’

‘Jump into battles. Be all reckless. Get hurt.’

‘It was an _explosion_ , Alfred, I could hardly control—’

‘At first, I thought it was just the thrill of a new war, but the timing was horrible, so soon after Michael…’

‘I would have gone anyway.’

‘And then the next thing I know I hear that you’re hauling burning shells over the parapet with your bare hands!’

‘Well, of course, I did! It landed right where the powder kegs were!’

‘And have you even recovered from that horrid shot from last year?’

‘I would do it again to shield my men.’

‘You really have no consideration for us who worry about you…’

‘Not what you said when I got the Cross for my heroism at your fancy Palace. It was the uniform, wasn’t it? I saw the way you looked at me.’

Alfred ignored him. ‘…And you have the nerve to tell me not to request a commission.’

‘I have done more than advise _you_ , I advised the office against it,’ Will confessed without thinking.

Alfred sat up, completely aghast. ‘Excuse me?!’ he choked out.

‘One of us has to be sensible and it can’t be me!’

‘You. Told them not to give me a commission!? _You_?!’

‘It’s no place for you, Alfred.’

‘I’m not a bloody damsel, Will!’

‘I can’t let you get hurt.’

‘Michael would have said—’

‘Drummond would never—’

They both fell silent in a checkmate.

William eyed the vial of laudanum on his table with second thoughts. For his mood more than his arm.

He was sweating and Alfred could definitely relate. He took off his frock coat that still bore the dust of the train and opened up a window. It was a beautiful summer’s evening out there, with a sunset putting the best of landscape art to shame. It was about to rain again, too. The tension in the air was rising. Alfred longed for fresh air, not this choking humidity. He smoked to numb his nerves. Perhaps for more. Perhaps he was aware of William admiring him shamelessly, how stunning he looked basking in the glow of the soft rays of the dying sun. Perhaps he wasn’t twenty anymore but far he was from ageing and far from losing a fraction of his beauty, or his fire, for that matter. It was all wasted, though, wasted on everyone.

He stumped out the cigar and turned back to the bed.

‘I apologise,’ he offered diplomatically.

‘He was so happy the last time I saw him,’ William said about Michael fondly, even with the pain creeping in. ‘I am used to loss. I understand it. I just cannot understand _why_ he would have…’

‘We will never have the answers. He was always…’

‘No, he wasn’t always,’ William said, sitting up more at the expense of more pain but he didn’t care. ‘He was never always anything. He changed from one day to the next. I suppose I spoiled him and drove him mad,’ he grumbled angry at himself and lit another cigar with frustrating difficulty as soon as his went out.

‘You _did not_ ,’ Alfred objected passionately.

‘Didn’t I? Wouldn’t have been the first time.’

‘No, this was different. I’d known him since we were boys, I know what he was like by nature. You were good for him—never thought I’d say so, but it’s true.’

‘I have never been good for anyone, Alfred,’ William said with a bitter laugh. ‘Like with you, I simply meddled with his mood, I was an unbalancing force. He would be happy with me for a few weeks or months, and then go home, where he would fall right back into his despair, and he knew it, and I couldn’t do anything about it.’

‘You could have been here more.’

‘I was here as much as I could! You know that is plain true, I am not defending myself – I would be the last person to do so! Shit… Don’t, I’m fine,’ Will said before Alfred figured out just how wretched he felt and felt sorry for him again. ‘You think you’re tired of me? Imagine how tired I am! What should I have done? His wife _knew_. In the end. And she resented it. It never bothered me before, with others. That was just it, wild horses wouldn’t have kept me away from him. He was much wiser than me, if he were here, he’d say don’t be sad it is over, be happy it happened. But the happier I made him, the more acute the drop was when we parted. Or was it something he didn’t say? Was it something else? Was it that I didn’t love him enough or am I simply cursed!?’

‘Stop, Will, that’s nonsense.’

‘I should never have begun! He would still be alive if I hadn’t—’

‘If you hadn’t talked him out of jumping that day—’

‘Well, he found another day for it, didn’t he?!’ William asked, worked up, smoking agitatedly. ‘So, of course, I sailed as soon as I could, naturally, I did! And I will go back to the front as soon as I can and I will save as many of my men as I can before I go, one limb at a time, Alfred, so thank you for coming here but it doesn’t change anything. Not since, not for years, not now, not ever. You wishing me well certainly doesn’t help, if that’s really what you’re looking for in my bedchamber, darling. And you, you have never tiptoed around me like I might break, so don’t start now, it’s not how we are with one another. Hit me instead, shout at me, leave me, anything but this!’

‘Well, I shan’t! So, your answer is this?’ Alfred raised him, walking over to the bed again, not treating him any different than if he had been perfectly healthy. ‘To seek more pain to numb what already ails you?! To throw yourself into the worst war in living memory, and torment yourself, and me?’

‘Come, Alfred, you’ll be fine, whatever happens to me.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘You were just fine when I fled England, found yourself a little househusband for life, damn me, I never existed.’

‘I’m not going through this again.’

‘Well, it’s true!’

‘YOU LEFT—’

‘Yes, yes, and the footman and the whores—I just wanted it to be a memorable night, as always before I had to set sail. Did you even tell Drummond about me before we met? Bet you didn’t.’

‘As it happens I did, and he pitied you for wasting my love.’

‘Hm. I pity him, too, and you, he’s probably not prepared to do half the things we got up to—’

‘You’re really just unusually vile today and that’s saying something,’ Alfred huffed, set to storm away from here, too. ‘I don’t need this.’

‘Just speaking the truth, darling.’

Alfred grabbed his bag. ‘You do that, perhaps I _shall_ leave in that event.’

‘You do that.’

‘I am! Goodb—’

‘Say hello to your wife.’

SLAM. Even William jumped at how harshly Alfred reacted. He threw aside his bag and approached the bed measuredly.

‘Alright,’ he said in a restrained voice, though he would have loved to shout. ‘Let us speak of the truth, then. Come on, out with it. Don’t hold back, Will. I am all ears. Tell me anything you’ve held back. You know, _before it’s too late_. Because I will ask for a commission again and I forbid you to prevent me from getting one this time. And seeing as you so successfully got yourself so bloodied up, you will not be there to help me. So, out with it, before I go east.’

William looked up fiercely at him, accepting the challenge, though his injury was killing him almost as much as his heart that beat as wildly as ever.

‘Your lordship first,’ he offered dangerously.

‘I came here because you need someone,’ Alfred told him fiercely, looming over the bed resolutely.

‘To? To ring for a servant when my chamber pot needs emptying?’

‘Someone to care about you. To be with you. To love you.’

‘Ha! How unfortunate, then, that you do not.’

‘I do love you, you absolute scoundrel.’

William chuckled bitterly.

‘Just _not like that_ , I get it, Alfred, you don’t have to rub it in again, you don’t have to force this, whatever this is, just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ll heal. So will you.’

‘Me? I’m fine.’

‘Are you? I know you, Alfred. You show up here without Drummond? You barely mention him? And when you do, it’s all “nobody wants me!”. And suddenly, you have a death wish? Can you be any more obvious? You have clearly run from a quarrel. Lucky I’m in the country! And to be honest, under different circumstances I’d say I understand and I would jump at the offer to _comfort you_ , but look at us, this is just sad, darling.’

William stumped out his cheroot on a coffee saucer because it required less effort to reach than the ashtray.

‘Why do you still call me that?’

‘What, _darling_?’

‘I was never a darling. I was many things, but I was never that to you, I was just…’

‘You were my life, Alfred,’ William cut in brutally honestly. He threw off his stifling covers and scooted over to the corner of the bed nearer Alfred at great pains that he did not show. ‘That’s the truth. We can go all our lives, however long or short, pretending otherwise and brushing it under the carpet. Or, we can say it, once and for all. Fuck the navy, fuck the war, fuck my command. Fuck my Victoria Cross, too. _You_ were my life and nothing else. I was never brave enough to tell you that when I should have. So, what am I, really, but a coward when it comes to things that matter? That is the truth.’

Alfred got more than he bargained for. Plenty more. His heart was aching it beat so wildly.

‘That’s just your grief speaking from you,’ he stammered in disbelief.

‘And this visit is just your argument driving you. One of us is lying to himself and it isn’t me. I have nothing to lose, why would I? Alas, we have all made choices and now we must, ah…’ William swallowed a wince as he overexerted himself in his passion, ‘…live with them.’

‘Or die for them?’ Alfred challenged.

A distant thunder would bring back the welcome rain any second now, his swollen throat thirsted for it. William smiled knowingly, and said:

‘You’re not mad I threw myself into danger. You’re frustrated you’re not allowed to do the same.’

‘So, what if I am? We’re not so different, you and I. Perhaps I _have_ been lying to myself.’

William also sensed this was going further than he intended.

‘Don’t,’ he warned.

‘What?’ Alfred feigned innocence.

‘You know exactly what, and what you’re doing to me.’

‘If that were true, why would you care?’

‘Because. People change. Even I.’

‘I thought you had nothing to lose?’

‘But you do.’

‘Still, the blame would be entirely mine.’

‘Oh, darling… God, Michael, too, looked at me like I was his world and I couldn’t be. Serves me right to feel the same so as to repent. How cruel from Providence but how fitting. I deserve it for all my sins. No wonder he… this is hell itself.’

‘Stop it, you couldn’t help him, none of us could.’

‘And you can’t help me. Leave. Go home, go back to him. I’ll live.’

‘Edward’s not… I can…’

‘—not, Alfred, and don’t tempt me with the pretence, you’re making it worse.’

Alfred remained exactly where he was. William knew that look, how much need for a little love there was behind his sad, blue eyes.

‘Please, leave, Alfred,’ he pleaded in spite of himself, knowing he wouldn’t be able to deny him. ‘Give Drummond my regards.’

‘There must be something. _Something_ ,’ Alfred said more to himself, unable to accept this was a pointless trip, until his knees hit the edge of the bed.

‘Nothing you are free to give me.’

Alfred started, the statement echoing in his ears, remembering that most wretched morning. And in that instance, he saw clearly in the unnaturally sudden darkness.

‘I am free to do as I please,’ he repeated himself and there was no arguing with him this time as he closed the distance between them and kissed William as if not a day had passed since he had last made love to him.

There was a moment when Alfred pulled away, stunned by what he had done, which was like the moment when the spark of a burning fuse disappears, only to then be followed by an explosion. William kissed back hungrily, desperately, and so did Alfred in response, like waves crashing together after travelling the length of the world across oceans.

Alfred lost his reason completely after this first and worst transgression—it was as if he had already crossed the line, so it didn’t matter how far beyond it he ventured. He knelt on the bed, straddling William even as they devoured each other’s lips. William tore at Alfred’s tie, his waistcoat heatedly, blind to his pain for a moment before its keen sting axed through his pleasure. Alfred, too, was burning up, clawing at William until he rid him of his soaked nightshirt, freeing more glistening skin, not surprised to find more bruises—this was just like in the old days. William exposed Alfred’s skin impatiently and kissed his neck just where he knew he loved it and bit the skin of his shoulder as if he had read his mind. The thunderstorm outside could eat its heart out: together, they were electric.

_It would have been so easy._

William groaned with pleasure and pain at Alfred’s touch as he grabbed at his billowing, jet-black hair, feeding his tongue to him more, and some more, but then, it was just a little too much, just a little too wrong, too pained, too bad, and he heard the lie in his voice that he was alright, because he wasn’t, and nor was Alfred, and nor was any of this.

All it was good for was hurting everyone more.

He pulled away the slightest and William knew he lost him even as he was gaping for just one more taste of his kiss.

‘I c-can’t,’ Alfred panted miserably. ‘No, I _can_ , but I—I don’t _really_ want to—’

‘I know,’ William breathed painfully against Alfred’s lips, savouring whatever he could.

‘That’s it? “I know?” You’re supposed to convince me, kiss me anyway, remind me something about how we only have today or that life is short and… _something_ …’

‘I am not the answer, my darling,’ William said just an inch from giving into this mistake anyway, a tremble in his voice and beads of sweat giving away his state. ‘Whatever it is that’s passed, you need to talk to him. Don’t make my mistake, don’t waste the only thing you can never get back: time.’

With shaking hands, he felt along Alfred’s spine under the shirt only to find it. The locket. Gently, he slid it back to its rightful place, over Alfred’s heart.

Alfred had never felt so wretched or longed so desperately for Edward. He moved to get up, but William still clung to him in need.

‘Let me just hold you. Only hold. Just a little more.’

Alfred scarcely understood why he didn’t fight it at all, and they stayed in their pained embrace, knowing this was the last time they would ever be as close as this. It was well and truly a closure on that chapter in both of their lives. It wasn’t really each other that they mourned but their youth before all the pain they’d lived to see since. How wonderful it would have been to pretend for just a while that none of that had happened. Sadly, the time for that had passed. If a tear escaped Alfred’s eyes, he made sure it remained a secret and he buried it in the crook of Will’s neck, where his hair clung damply to his skin.

William cherished every second dearly for what it was. However, something was off after a minute or two. Alfred pulled away to take a look at him.

‘You’re shaking,’ he noted frightfully.

William was truly unwell and shaking from head to toe, surprising himself. Something was wrong beyond what had passed between them. Alfred cupped his pale cheeks—he was burning up—and met his dark eyes, which were full of fear and pain.

‘William?!’

‘I’m f-fine.’

‘ _Will_.’

‘Alright, I lied, t-t-truth is it h-h-hurts rather— _argh_ —wretchedly— _fuck_ …,’ he confessed and quickly lost control.

Alfred was horrified to see his bandages had bled through.

‘I’ll get the doctor.’

‘Don’t let them take it!’ William uttered before going into a fit of spasms and passing out from pain. Alfred ran out and through the rain, frightened out of his wits.

***

Edward had not spoken for the past twenty minutes. He had finished his fish and nearly all of the wine in his glass. Thank God for the waiter who refilled it without judgement. A single second of eye-contact let him know the server sympathised with him—perhaps his own father had been the same, only without a key to his private bank’s vaults. Edward was suddenly reminded of Sir Robert, too, and his relationship with— _Don’t you dare sympathise with that scoundrel_ , he heard his inner voice. He sneakily checked his pocket watch under the table. Going on twenty-five minutes now. And his father was still talking, only keeping his voice down for the sake of not making a scene in the club in front of other, most influential gentlemen. He had no idea how many synonyms there were for “ungrateful”, but apparently, he was all of them.

‘Well, I have my reasons, Papa, save your breath and have a bite, it ought to calm you,’ he quipped audaciously nonchalantly. ‘Really, the sauce is heavenly.’

Charles Drummond fell silent indeed, and his face was as stony as ever.

‘I do not recognise you, son,’ he chastised him through gritted teeth. ‘What happened? You were perfectly sensible at the banquet.’

‘Oh, Papa, you know we mustn’t discuss business in the club. It is against the rules.’

‘We shall discuss whatever I say. Or else we shall continue this in your office.’

‘I am not going back to the office.’

‘The hell you aren’t. And sit up, now. The Asgards are sitting right behind you, boy.’

‘I am sitting just fine.’

‘You’re slouching, and for God’s sakes, hold that glass of wine like a man. …I hope you’re not still such famous friends with that Paget boy.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘That Lord Alfred,’ Charles repeated in a much lower voice. ‘It would do you good to eliminate that man from your close circle—don’t you know what they say about him?’

Edward straightened his wrist and sat up. ‘You are not a man to listen to idle rumours, Papa.’

‘All rumours have a nugget of truth, son.’

‘Well, this one does not. I can assure you, nothing unseemly has ever happened under his roof. We live in his house, for Christ’s sake, Charlotte and I.

‘Ah, don’t let’s talk about your sister. She is a lost cause, that’s become clear. The shame of having a spinster for a daughter…’

‘Don’t call her that.’

‘There is, however, still hope for you. Lady Sophia’s mother has called on us—we have of course invited all of them to your mother’s birthday soirée next week, which you shall attend. Don’t bother bringing Charlotte, she never dresses like a lady nowadays, most embarrassingly. And I absolutely command you to go back to the office after this luncheon, apologise to the Lieutenant for your foolishness, and accept the promotion. We shall announce it at the soirée, and I daresay your engagement shortly after—’

Edward wiped his mouth with a napkin.

‘Very well, Papa,’ he said, standing. ‘I shall go to the office at once.’

‘You will?’ Charles asked, surprised but pleased he’s won.

‘Oh, yes!’ Edward reassured him and having a last sip of his wine in a rush. ‘You have indeed inspired me greatly during this luncheon. Thanks for helping me see clearly through this mess—oh! Sorry about that,’ he added, having spilled his wine accidentally on his father’s clothes. ‘What a mess I’ve made! Let me put it right. I’d best be off!’

‘Argh, Edward!—YOU THERE!’

As Charles barked at a waiter to clear up the mess his son made, Edward swept out of the club with confident strides. He saw his future clearly now and knew just what to do.

***

It was only natural for Mrs Bell to fret and try to push all sorts of things on both the master of the house and his guest, even the doctor and the nurse when they came each day to redress William’s arm and do everything necessary for his wellbeing. Alas, she could bake the world’s best cakes, but Alfred could barely stomach more than a few bites of anything.

He stayed for all of the doctor’s visits. He wanted to know everything. It didn’t look as ghastly under William’s bandages as he had imagined. The skin on the forearm had been burnt but not so deep it wouldn’t heal. The pain came from the bones, which were cracked and tender, though not broken—luckily not at the elbow, certainly, which the doctor advised should be carefully flexed every now and then so as to ensure full movement returned with time.

Nobody had thought to examine the captain elsewhere thoroughly but Alfred insisted on it now. The Captain’s threshold for pain was very high indeed. It was then that the doctor also realised he had a cracked rib, which meant constant bedrest for the next several weeks. Other than that, there should have been no reason why he wouldn’t heal eventually.

Why was he wretchedness itself, then? He kept a brave face and never complained but Alfred suspected it was only to seem strong in front of him. He also had a feeling his pain came from much deeper than simply flesh and bone.

Whatever the doctor gave him also made William sick for the third night in a row. He was bent over the edge of the bed yet again, retching over a chamber pot. Alfred stroked his back soothingly and held back his too-long black hair throughout it. When it was over, he gave Will a wet towel to wipe his face with while he got rid of the pot before coming back to bed to him.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry…’ William muttered flopping back on the pillow.

‘Whatever for, stupid?’ Alfred replied, surprised.

‘I don’t like you to see me so weak,’ William nearly sobbed into Alfred’s shoulder.

It wasn’t often Alfred could detect fear or shame in the captain’s demeanour. He stroked his pale face and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

‘I don’t like to see you like this, either,’ he said sombrely.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Shhh,’ Alfred said, kissing his hair again. Not like a lover, not like a mother, or a brother. Something only they were. ‘You don’t have to be strong for me, you know. Be as weak as you like. We will get your health back. Hm? We’ll take it one day at a time. I won’t leave your side until that. I promise.’

‘But what about Drummond?’ William asked, not unkindly for once.

‘He’ll understand,’ Alfred said, or hoped. ‘Don’t worry about anything now. Slow down and just rest.’

For now, all he could do was to stay right there until William was defeated by fatigue and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

***

It was a mark of Mr Drummond’s uncommonly wholesome personality that he had kept his word and given his valet a house very nearly almost as big as Lord Alfred’s private London residence. It was Claridge’s in Mayfair that was up for sale and it just worked out. The building was grand and suitable for the most elegant guests that Walter Wood had had in mind when all this had been nothing but a lofty dream.

Running it was another matter entirely: a full-time job, from dawn till dusk, and then late into the night, and really at all hours. He was frequently roused from his sleep to take care of all sorts of crises. So, eventually, Wood had to say goodbye to Mr Drummond, and to Lord Alfred, and sadly, to Danny Wilson, his first love. Since then, he had put everything he had into this hotel, which was a roaring success, especially after Her Majesty herself (after a recommendation from Lord Alfred) graced its restaurant with a visit.

After Wood’s surprising marriage to an adventurous heiress from India, they together could expand it and it was a glamorous factory of luxurious suites, champagne fountains, and gourmet dishes created by a shouty, French chef.

Mayfair’s busy, elegant buildings and brilliantly green trees made for a fantastic view outside the fourth-floor office basking in sunshine, albeit Wood’s desk was cluttered with paperwork, so he could hardly enjoy summer in the city. But it all had to wait, for his three-year-old little Yasmine invited him for pretend-tea.

‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ Wood said very politely, accepting a pouring of air into his flowery play-cup from his daughter.

‘You are very welcome, Papa,’ the little girl said.

‘Oh, but are you going to let your Papa go without any sugar in his tea?’

‘The sugar is for the horses.’

‘Horses?’

‘Yes, the horses, in the stable!’

‘I wasn’t aware we had any horses, or a stable.’

‘Maybe you should invest in one, Walt,’ a man’s voice came from the doorway. ‘A hotel, without a stable? Whoever’s heard of such a thing? You call yourself a manager?!’

‘Danny!’ Wood rejoiced, so much so that he forgot to hold out his little finger whilst holding the teacup, for which he was duly scolded by his daughter. ‘Why don’t you run along and ask your Mama to teach you how to paint horses, sweetheart?’

She seemed to think that was a splendid idea and skipped out of the office happily.

‘Hello, you,’ Wood said confidentially to his friend.

‘And you,’ Wilson replied with a boyish smile. ‘Why did you do that? I thought I was about to score an invitation to join Miss Wood’s tea party. Again.’

‘And be stuck in here for hours and leave Lord Alfred to fend for himself again? I don’t think so.’

‘He’s still out of town,’ Wilson shrugged.

‘Not still? At the Captain’s in the country?’

‘Yes… and no word, either, since he stormed away.’

Wood furrowed his brows. ‘And Mr Drummond?’

‘He’s just left for Paddington.’

‘About time. You’re not going with him?’

‘Doesn’t seem to need me.’

‘And the ladies?’

‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’ Wilson jested, earning a playful pat on the arm. ‘Am I not welcome here, Walt!?’

‘Get off it. I’m just surprised. You were here yesterday. And the day before.’

‘Ouch. Alright. Hint taken, bye then…’

‘Stop, you, silly man. I only mean, don’t you have somewhere more exciting to go? All I’ve got here is mountains of accounts, three new lobby boys to train, and the new chef. He’s very irritable, but his sorbets are a delight, so I forgive him. So? Is everything alright? Are you not…’

‘What?’

‘I was going to say lonely, but I’ve never known you to be it.’

Wilson shrugged. ‘I might be, actually. Life is good. Can’t complain. I just uh, I don’t know.’

‘Isn’t there a special someone?’

‘Don’t start. The ladies keep teasing me about marriage, too. Why should I marry? Just because everyone does?’

‘Well, you should have someone. Not everyone should, no, but you…’

Wilson opened his mouth to respond but the glamorous and beautiful Mrs Shree Wood appeared with more paper stacks and said:

‘Don’t object, Walt’s right,’ she said with gusto. ‘Don’t you have work to do? We can find you plenty here!’

‘I’m on top of things, dear,’ Wood said comically confidently. His wife cracked up.

‘Mr Wilson, please see to it that my Walter finishes that stack today—apparently, I have to teach Yasmine how to draw horses.’

Walt looked duly guilty and she left them to it.

Wilson was glad to escape the dullness of midsummer without a full day’s schedule for a while in Wood’s hotel, but he could see his friend was quite busy. He left before too long. Plus, Wood had become one of those married people who nagged everyone to marry, too. Why did that irk him so? It was one of those days when he just seemed to see happy couples everywhere, too, so he cut his walks shorter than planned. He returned to the house to a good portion of Cecilia’s cake waiting for him on the kitchen table with a note that said “ _This is not a prank._ ” After testing the slice for signs of trickery, he braved it, hoping he wouldn’t be sorry he trusted the lady tomorrow. He got himself a cup of tea and the book he was currently reading. He read a lot these days.

Cecilia snuck into the downstairs quarters, she thought without a sound, but Wilson knew this house like the back of his hand, including its chatelaine. Before she could scare him, he barked suddenly at her, making her jump and clutch her chest.

‘Oh!!! You just…’

The butler was laughing gleefully. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘Excuse me, Wilson!? Is that how we speak to me?’

‘It’s still my time off. Especially now that Mr Drummond is out of town. I can speak however I wish, even to your ladyship. Good cake, by the way. Hope it’s not poisoned. So, out with it, m’lady. How can I help?’

‘Very well,’ she said, assuming a business-like tone. ‘So, now that Edward and Alfred are not here, I finally get to do as I please with my dearest Charlotte, all on our own. A rare treat.’

‘Uhhh, I’m not sure I ought to hear about all that, my lady.’

She shot him a judgemental look and continued anyway: ‘I want you to take us to that place at the docks. With the card games and such. You know which place.’

Wilson, who had been sipping his tea, spurted it out.

‘ _You_ want to go to the Dirty Duchess?!’ he exclaimed and burst into laughing.

‘Yes, why? What’s so funny?’

He just kept on laughing.

‘What? I can be dangerous and rugged,’ Cecilia insisted.

‘Oh, god!’ he laughed, clutching his sides. ‘Please, stop, stop!’

Charlotte appeared in the kitchen at that point, with very thin lips. He stuffed it at once and stood at attention. It was her magic (and naturally intimidating energy) that they were on their way to the east docks within ten minutes, just as her Cecilia wished. Wilson warned them it wasn’t a good idea, but he wasn’t about to pass up the sight of these great ladies in a joint like that!

***

Meanwhile, Edward arrived in Sandy by the latest train. It was still raining cats and dogs over there. It went midnight by the time he got to the house, greeted Mrs Bell gratefully, and stepped gingerly into William’s bedroom, where he found a sight that both warmed his heart and pained it.

Alfred had dozed off in his clothes. He was lying on the bed next to William, over the covers, cradling a book to his chest with one hand, evidently having succumbed to exhaustion whilst reading as was his habit. With his other, however, he was holding William’s hand, who was also passed right out, though judging by the medications by the bed, his rest was induced by something stronger than poetry.

Edward felt a jolt of guilt. He had never really liked, only tolerated, the Captain. But he had to admit, if any of his friends were in such a sorry state, he would be there by their side, though not necessarily in the same bed.

As if he had sensed his presence, Alfred stirred. He let go of William’s hand as soon as he realised it was Edward that stood in the room. He clutched his book to his chest and got up gingerly so as not to wake Will. He touched Edward gently over the heart and inclined for him to stay quiet and to follow. They went downstairs to the library, where Alfred had the chance to fill him in on the Captain’s condition and to ask Edward how come he was there.

‘ _Not_ accusatorily,’ Alfred backtracked quickly. ‘I am only surprised. You must be very busy.’

‘Why didn’t you write?’ was Edward’s reaction, just when Alfred thought they were past their argument.

‘Did you not hear what I said? I was right, he needs someone here, if he’d gone into shock alone—’

‘Should we not hire a nurse?’ Edward asked and upon seeing Alfred’s icy look, he went ahead to correct himself: ‘No, I mean, genuinely, does he have good care here? He does look awful.’

‘Yes, the doctor is competent and there is a nurse who comes every day, and of course Mrs Bell is a marvel. And he has me.’

Edward was nodding. ‘…Good.’

He was at a loss, completely disarmed by Alfred’s sight. Even in the darkness, for the lower shutters were closed for privacy, he was glowing like gold, while Edward felt like a shadow of himself. He did not want this to be yet another argument. He had been a fool and feared the outcome of these next few minutes. But he had to ask. His lips quivered and he hang his head.

‘Have _you_ got bored of me?’ he asked in a small voice.

Alfred’s mouth fell open.

‘Sorry?’

‘Is that it?’ Edward asked bitterly sadly. ‘Has the moment you once spoke of come? If it has, tell me, my l—’ Edward succumbed to a sob there before manning himself. ‘Tell me, my love, and, though it would break my heart, I shall step aside. I behaved horribly. I have come to apologise, and to say that I don’t want to own you. I suppose I just felt like I had so little control over anything, for a time, and my way to cope was not a very good one. But I don’t want you to be by my side because you feel obliged. I wish you did it because you wanted to.’

‘I do want to,’ Alfred declared firmly, his heart burning for the love of Edward. ‘I want you more than ever! Bored of you? Oh, my love, far, far from it. That’s just it, I feel like I haven’t seen you since this bloody war broke out. It’s like before, when I was happy to clap eyes on you maybe once a _month_ , hoping you would accompany Sir Robert on his next audience, or the next, and when you did, even if we had no chance to talk, if I just caught your eye, just for a second, it kept me smiling for days!’

Despite his watery eyes, Edward was brought to a smile at the memories.

‘I’ve done a lot of thinking whilst here, about what to say to you.’ Alfred continued. ‘I wasn’t ignorant about my luck and happiness in Scotland. You’ve spoiled me! In the very best of ways, my dearest, Edward. But now that it has faded into the distant horizon, I am lost. I know how to be alone, Edward, contrary to what you assume of me. I spent long years alone, too. I just thought I’d never again have to. How can it be this way again, after such blissful years? I don’t want this. I want you. Not all of you, if you feel you have much to give to the country and to the world. But something. Give me _something_ , Edward, before there’s nothing of us.’

‘I am yours. Now and always.’

‘And I am yours. Never doubt that.’

‘You doubted me, too!’

‘No, I.. not truly…’

‘Then why did you not write? I was out of my wits with worry. So many things, I… Christ, Cecilia was telling me I was an idiot, of course, thinking the train had turned over in that ghastly weather and that you were lying in a ditch somewhere with your neck broken, and then Charlotte suggested all sorts of things about Sir William, and then I was awash with the most awful, jealous thoughts, for shame, but because you didn’t write—’

Edward’s next sob was stifled into Alfred’s hair, who had come to take him into his arms.

‘I forgot. I just forgot,’ he said honestly and pressed his forehead against Edward’s. ‘I am endlessly sorry, my love, Edward, I simply forgot with all the horrible things happening. I did not even think to write to Lady Peel. Perhaps, somewhere, I thought you would not care to hear from me, given our quarrel.’

‘I was in a thousand miseries thinking you hated me.’

‘Never, never, Edward!’ Alfred reassured him, kissing his hands warmly. ‘Oh, men like us thank the heavens if we find anyone to love at all, we never think about how to manage a marriage years on,’ he noted, cracking up Edward.

‘And yet, here we are,’ Edward sighed happily, holding his love tighter against his body, though his coat was all wet from the rain. ‘Are you smelling me?’

‘I _missed_ you. I am such a fool!’ Alfred said, breathing in Edward’s scent that felt like home to him more than any bed, house, or city. He rubbed the tip of his nose against Edward’s sweetly, working up his courage for a kiss.

‘I am. I am the fool to have even insinuated…’ Edward looked down and trailed off, brows furrowed. ‘Your waistcoat. A button is torn.’

Alfred glanced down at himself, noticing it just now, the memories and guilt flashing through him in an instant. By the time he glanced back up at Edward, he faced a pair of dull brown eyes.

Edward stepped away, hurt to the core.

‘It’s not what you think,’ Alfred began, only confirming the worst of Edward’s theories.

‘Is it not?’ Edward asked incredulously.

Alfred’s heart was beating wildly, and so was Edward’s. He felt like a rug has been pulled from under his feet.

‘It isn’t, we didn’t…’ Alfred spoke calmly and carefully. ‘Have reason, Edward. He is out of it.’

‘Oh, that’s it, then, good! That’s what stopped you, did it? How lucky for me!’

‘Don’t joke about this, you _saw_ him.’

‘He does look battered, but he has clearly suffered an injury only from the waist up!’

‘Stop that, it does not suit you.’

‘I might surprise you. Clearly the time has not passed for you to surprise me.’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘Then where is your button, Alfred?’ Edward asked, surprised his voice was still holding up. ‘WHERE IS IT?’ he shouted, making Alfred jump. ‘Did he—’

‘I just kissed him. Me. I kissed him.’

Tears streamed down Edward’s otherwise stony face.

‘Another lie,’ he said. ‘You know I would _skin_ that smirky scoundrel if I knew he—’

‘It’s not a lie. _I did_. That was it, that is all that happened, I swear, Edward, nothing more.’

Edward’s breath hitched from the bitterness of this pill. There went his plans to avoid a quarrel.

‘And somehow,’ he pointed out, ‘your button popped off just from kissing him. Of course! I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s something I cannot possibly understand not having had other lovers than you—yes, that is still true, Alfred, despite your wholly unreasonable and insulting accusations before you stormed out of our home and into that slimy, vulgar cad’s arms—’

‘I am not your lover, Edward Drummond, I am your husband,’ Alfred declared defiantly, even as Edward scoffed hurtfully. ‘And as such I have no desire to betray you, your trust, and least of all your love. Can you listen to me? Can you forgive me?’

Edward stood stoically in the room, contemplating his choices. Already, he could barely hold up, imagining the two of them together in such a passionate “kiss” that the button went curiously missing. Somehow, though he had sworn never to let this happen, he had driven Alfred into a state that he should have thought it acceptable and even desired it enough to act on it, to kiss another man, and not just anyone.

‘Why him?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Why him, of all men? If you so wished to…’

‘I didn’t, that’s what I am trying to tell you,’ Alfred insisted firmly. ‘I thought that this was the answer, and I quickly realised it was not.’

‘The answer to what? Whether to stay with me or not? Lucky for you, he’s still game.’

‘No, I had a moment of stupidity, he saw it, too, and as a matter of fact, he advised me to go back home to you, which I would have if he hadn’t had a seizure and passed out.’

‘Sorry, was that before or after he tore your clothes off you?’

‘God, you make me understand Michael, why he chose to end it on a happy note!’ Alfred growled bitterly, running his hands through his hair in desperation.

Something flashed across Edward’s face and his anger was replaced by sheer sadness.

‘Actually, Alfred, he…’ he fumbled in the pocket of his coat. ‘Not the moment I would have chosen for this, but I suppose we cannot resolve this in a couple of minutes, so, I might as well: I had a letter, Alfred. From Florence. Here.’

‘Later.’

‘No, you should,’ Edward said, pushing the letter in his hands. ‘If you care _so deeply_ about Sir William.’

Alfred huffed but read it as told, he read, and read, such dark words in Florence’s decorative handwriting, under a sliver of moonlight in the dark library. When he was done, he was knocked for six.

‘You must tell him,’ he concluded.

‘I thought you might. In fact, given what has transpired, I couldn’t face him, not like a gentleman. I’m sure you will find a way to comfort him.’

‘The letter is addressed to you,’ Alfred insisted coldly and handed it back.

Alfred walked around the room aimlessly, among furniture still covered in white sheets. Mrs Bell had not had time to ready all the rooms, and what was the point when William was bedbound? He lit a cigar and fiddled with the pictures on the piano, all turned down flat so as not to collect dust. He didn’t have to reveal many to find sketch after sketch by _him_. Indeed, this whole house, though no longer swarming with all sorts of pets and plants—Michael had a way of bringing life everywhere—his handiwork was everywhere—in the fabric of the wallpaper, in the polish of the floorboards, in the grand piano of this very library.

‘We talked about Michael,’ Alfred spoke. ‘He just can’t seem to heal.’

Alfred sniffed away his tears, choosing his words carefully.

‘I suppose I wouldn’t have, either, if I’d buried you. I think about it all the time, especially when you’re away. I still have that nightmare; I relive seeing you shot and then wake up to an empty bed,’ Alfred spoke, and wiped away his tears.

The more he looked at a painting in his hand, the more his vision swam into a distant land.

‘I am going to bury him one day. William. When there is no one else to bring his ashes back from wherever the end finds him. I have always known this. When he and Michael found each other, I thought I was relieved of it, even though he’s not a burden but… God, our lives have been entangled for so long. For much longer than I have known you, Edward. I am not in love with him anymore. Far from it. But I feel a sense of responsibility. He should have been here, Michael. He would have known what to do much better than I. He was good at these things. He would have been the one to bring down Will’s fever, to bathe him, to shave him because he’d cut himself with his left hand and Mrs Bell doesn’t know how to. To hold his hair while he insists he’s fine even as he’s being sick. To read him to sleep. To hold his hand while he drifts away. But then Michael is lucky to be spared the knowing. Knowing that another war, another shell, another bullet and it will befall me to…’

Alfred lay the pictures back down to rest in the dust.

‘And before that happens, I will be there with him, and if I cannot be with him, I will make certain someone is, and if you think you can’t stand by me through that, I will understand. You are always the one who brings up duty. This is my duty now. I can’t explain why we had to get _that_ out of the way but it’s not actually as significant as you think. And I don’t think you _don’t_ understand.’

Alfred stepped closer to Edward, testing the waters.

‘I think you do, very much so. I have seen how much passion there is in you, longing to be unleashed. I know you like things crisp and clean and in control. With age, I’ve come to think we are never in control, not truly. I’m sorry, but I am messy. I don’t always make sense. I follow my heart. And it is desperate for you. Don’t deny it, Edward. But if it makes you feel better, go on, finish your job. So will I. I will wait for you. If it takes six months, a year, ten. Whenever you are ready. Just promise me you will come home one day. And God, Edward, please end the war if you can. If your banquets and impossible hours make even the slightest difference, please don’t stop until…’

Alfred suddenly fell silent upon noticing Edward bit his lip, like he always did when he felt guilty of something.

‘What is it?’

Edward felt uncomfortable.

‘Edward?’

‘I have resigned,’ Edward revealed.

It took a second for Alfred to comprehend the words. He nearly scorched the linen on the piano with his cigar, which he stumped out quickly with his palm that was still damp from Edward’s coat and collected himself.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I… I resigned. That damned meeting: they did want to promote me. As a diplomat. In Italy. It would have meant months apart from you, maybe even years. Probably even a knighthood. I cannot ask you to drop your life and come with me, let alone Cecilia and Charlotte. So, I thanked the board, and left. Father was livid and thought he could twist my hand to accept and even get engaged so I did one thing better than refuse the promotion and actually resigned. It has taken me three days to take care of things, to make my apologies and train my secretary to take over the paperwork and… Sorry. You don’t care about that, do you?’

‘Please, do go on. I don’t understand,’ Alfred uttered, not believing his ears. ‘A knighthood…’

‘I have been shouted at by virtually every supervisor of mine, past and present. I heard their words and saw their purple faces and vicious eyes and thought: I hope I am never like that, and I hope you have never seen me like that. You are absolutely correct to blame me for my ambitiousness. Scotland was heavenly but I felt like I was wasting my influence. A wise and incredibly attractive man once told me I would be a successful politician and make a difference in the world. But then, that person also advised me to go ahead and marry a woman.’

‘How idiotic of him!’ Alfred said with a flicker of humour. ‘He must be a damn fool.’

‘I am glad to say I put my foot down and married him instead,’ Edward replied proudly, even flashing a boyish, toothy smile. ‘I don’t claim to be immune to foolishness. I thought I could save people, that I must be the hero, the saviour who shoulders the future of all others, else they’ll be lost – how full of myself I sound, how arrogant!’

‘ _What piece of work is a man, how noble in reason_ …’

‘ _How like a God_ I thought I was! But I am only human, too. I am just a man.’

‘There is no “just” about you.’

‘But I cannot save the world. I cannot save the troops. I cannot save Sir William. But I can—well, not save you,’ Edward trailed into rambling, ‘I don’t want you to misunderstand and think I think I own you or that you need saving because I know perfectly well what a strong and brilliant man you are, and certainly no damsel or fragile creature for me to try to save but—’

‘Edward.’

‘—when you said you applied for commission, my heart stopped—I thought—would you really rather die with _him_ than live with me? I saw how I’d become exactly what I detested, and then Papa was breathing down my neck—’

‘Edward…’

‘Point is, I don’t want you to go East, Alfred, oh, God, I don’t want to—I don’t want you to—I just want _you_. Just you. Not a career, not to be a hero, not victory. Only, only you. Messy. And safe. If that sounds boring to you, I—’

Alfred couldn’t stand it anymore and closed the distance between them. He threw himself into the arms of the love of his life.

‘Forgive me, my love, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me…’

Edward held him even tighter. ‘I do, I do understand. I long for simpler days as well. But I’d rather this mess with you than those simpler days without you.’

Alfred clung to Edward as well, kissing him wherever he reached him, his neck, his ear, his hair…

‘You know, I think it’s our anniversary today,’ Edward whispered sweetly in his ear.

‘So it is.’

‘Our first kiss was in a library.’

Alfred smiled, warmth filling his heart.

‘Our next one could be as well…’ he said suggestively.

His wish was granted a thousand-fold as Edward kissed him at last, dissipating his bothersome neediness that ate at him for too long. He felt exactly in the place he was meant to be. He felt completely himself when he was in Edward’s arms, and his world was right again. He had no need of anything, or anyone else. And then, as one thing led to another and they kissed more and more passionately, he very much felt a _growing need_.

They hit the nearest chaise longue as one.

***

The disguises designed by Cecilia were actually working. Charlotte could easily have been mistaken for a man, or at least someone not to mess with, with her top hat, frock coat, trousers, and gilded cane, which she actually knew how to use in case anyone violated her personal space. Cecilia was wearing all browns, a headscarf in her hair, and had made every effort to look as if she belonged in a grimy place such as this dockside pub. Wilson seemed more alarmed than them, but then it wasn’t his first time here.

‘Well? How does one begin to play?’ Cecilia asked him while they were waiting for the bartender to pour their whiskies.

‘I’ve no idea, I’ve never been as mad as to actually sit at a table,’ he replied, mid-chugging a pint.

‘Well, why do you come here, then?’

At that point, a couple of ladies walked past, who smiled very suggestively at Wilson. Their skirts were also much shorter than appropriate in public.

‘Ah,’ Cecilia uttered, catching on. ‘Well, Wilson, we are your lady friends for the night, whether you like it or not, and I say we play.’

‘Miss Drummond might have beaten you to it,’ he pointed out, inclining his head towards a round table, where Charlotte was already sat. Her companions were two burly sailors and a soldier too wasted to see clearly. They were all also holding their cards tightly in their hands and smoking like factory chimneys.

A couple of tense rounds later a crowd had gathered around the table. Charlotte was in the thick of it, on a winning streak that surprised her, too.

‘It’s too easy!’ she teased the soldier that seemed to want to vomit on the creaky, dusty floorboards rather than play on. ‘Well, gentlemen? Another round?’

‘Aye,’ one of the sailors said, now significantly grumpier and poorer than before. ‘If we raise the stakes.’

‘Naturally,’ Charlotte replied, lighting another cigar before shuffling the deck rapidly. ‘Make it more interesting, shall we?’

‘A’ight. If I win, show us your c—’

‘Can’t! Say. That,’ Cecilia interrupted indignantly.

‘Shh, it’s alright, dear,’ Charlotte said, patting her hand calmly. ‘I’m afraid that’s not for sale. How about this, instead?’ she said, and wrote a check for ten whole pounds. Clearly, her opponents had never seen a real ten-pound check in their lives. ‘Think how many of what you just asked for this could get you. And a clean bath, which you so desperately need, gents.’

‘OI, SHUT YER—’

Charlotte snatched away the check and held back the burly sailor with her cane, though he had risen to his feet and looked rather angry.

‘Ma’am, perhaps it’s time to go home,’ Wilson warned in her ear.

‘Certainly not. Just one more game,’ Charlotte said daringly.

‘Charlotte,’ Cecilia warned, too, in her other ear.

‘Darling, you wanted an adventure.’

‘No, I know but, _Charlotte_ ,’ she whispered, tugging on her sleeve to look.

Charlotte swore under her breath as she spotted him, too: Queensberry just walked into this dingy pub, the very one she had once shot in the foot and had duelled for Cecilia’s honour, and who was left without her hand when Cecilia married Alfred. And behind him, to the ladies’ horror, was another man:

‘Papa?!’ Charlotte gasped. ‘Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,’ she cursed and thought quickly and leaned close to the burly sailor, with the check. ‘I’ll give you this right away if you tell me where to find a back exit.’

The sailor wasn’t so stupid as to not take up the offer. He pocketed the check and told them to move the green crate of beers down in the cellar.

Off they ran, Wilson trying to cover the ladies from sight, but not quickly enough, as the crowd around them objected to the end of the show.

‘What—Lady Cecilia Paget?’ Queensberry foolishly shouted across the pub.

‘Who?’ Charles Drummond asked.

‘There! With your daughter!’

‘Don’t talk nonsense… Charlotte?!’

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Charlotte cussed and used her cane to break through the crowd: they ran behind the bar and down the cellar ladder for dear life.

‘He’s following us!’ Cecilia pointed out unnecessarily as they climbed out the secret passage that led from the cellar to the docks.

‘This way,’ Wilson commanded with urgency, and they ran for cover between upturned boats for hire.

‘Cecilia! Cecilia!!’ Queensberry shouted. Mr Drummond Sr decided to leave the scene, evidently wishing to remain anonymous. They saw him flee and get in a cab. Queensberry, though, was dead set on finding them.

‘He dares call me by my Christian name!’ Cecilia complained.

‘Never mind that now,’ Charlotte snarled. ‘I told you I should have brought my gun. Or the yacht. What are we going to do now? I don’t know these parts.’

‘We have to keep moving,’ Wilson advised.

They dared the night on foot, chased down dark, dingy, and dangerous alleyways, always only a corner ahead of Queensberry.

***

‘Edward, that was…’

‘Hm?’

‘You would hear me better if you were up here.’

‘I think you’ll find I am much too busy with your ankles, my love.’

Alfred giggled from Edward’s ticklish kisses, who finally kissed his way up Alfred’s naked body until he could rest beside him on the chaise longue that was miraculously still in one piece.

‘Ow, what is poking me in the side?’ he yelped right away and investigated what had wedged between the cushions of the chaise.

It was the book Alfred had slept with. The cover was unmarked. Edward frowned and opened it on a random page. The only thing he recognised were the markings of dates on the margin, the rest was in some sort of language he could not decipher.

‘What’s this?’

‘Your diary,’ Alfred confessed. ‘Ours, to be precise. I have been transcribing it, so that no one can read it without having the key.’

‘But we burned my diary.’

‘We did not. Charlotte tricked us. She thought it too valuable and guarded it for years before revealing it to me in a moment of desperate loneliness for you whilst you were touring in the north. I knew just what to do. We worked out a sort of secret crypthand. I can teach you how to read it if you like. I have not finished it, but I hope to in some weeks. And then add to it the missing years. And there’s…’

Alfred turned to the back cover on the inside of which was a pocket. In there, lay a piece of cloth: a handkerchief embroidered with “A.P.” and soaked in old, dried blood.

‘You have kept it?’ Edward asked, dumbfounded.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not sure. It has marks of all the joys and pains of our times forever seeped into its fabric. When we are apart, half the time, it is not your absence itself that I find unbearable but the thought of you not coming home one day, wondering whether it is because you are stuck working late or… someone, a madman, some common thief, a political enemy has…’

Alfred closed his eyes and shook his head to perish the thought.

‘And because I want our love to surpass our time, Edward. Our love is such it will surpass our lives. It shall surpass centuries, and languages, and it will give comfort to someone in a happier year—or perhaps a sadder one for that matter. Try as I might, I cannot imagine that world, and it may never come, but what I can do is make sure that, though we bleed and we perish, our love will survive and it will be known by someone, someday, freely. I want them to know how beautiful you were, how good, how strong, how…’

‘How sad I have made you. So many times.’

‘Yes, you have. And you have also made me so very happy. So have I you. It matters not if we’ve hurt one another if we also heal together. I suppose that is love. And I will not allow anything to erase that. Not time, not work, not even my own stupidity. People do change. And that’s a good thing, now I see. But one thing is the same: I love you with the same burning passion I loved you when you were first mine. In fact, these white sheets everywhere—do you remember?’

Edward grinned sheepishly. ‘How could I forget?’ he said, thinking about their first night together at Alfred’s address, when it was but an abandoned shell. How much life they had filled it with over the years! How much love… since that first night and so many others. If those walls could speak… this diary would do that.

‘I’m sensing that’s not a book poking _me_ in the side,’ Alfred teased him, waking him from his distant thoughts.

The diary landed somewhere on their clothes on the carpet while its owners had better things to do than reading.

***

‘He’s still following us!’ Cecilia huffed out of breath.

‘Yes, well, careful what you wish for!’ Charlotte retorted. ‘”Let’s have some FUN, I just want some FUUUN” Ugh!’

‘I didn’t have THIS in mind! God, there he is again!’

Queensberry’s silhouette appeared at the end of the street they left behind, with threats of catching them and exposing whatever they got up to here. Trouble was, though Cecilia had been married for years, the Earl still favoured Queensberry over, well, any Paget. Therefore, she was likely to suffer some consequences of this night if caught. If.

‘Let’s move,’ Wilson urged them. ‘This street stinks of dead rat.’

They ran for just a few more street corners, down alleyways that weren’t even paved. Their shoes were muddy, they had no light to lead their path, and the people of the night they passed were becoming more of a concern than Queensberry.

‘There must be some place for us to hide out at,’ Charlotte panted whilst running.

‘Not round these parts,’ Wilson replied like she was crazy.

‘Why not? I can pay anyone.’

‘That’s just the problem! They’ll know they can—oi! We’re walking here!’ Wilson ducked out of the way of a bucket of grime someone dumped out of their window above. ‘They know they can extort us and dump us in the Thames after! At this hour, we’re lucky we’ve not run into—’

At that point, their way forward was blocked by a group of burly men, whose reaction upon seeing them was to take out their knives.

‘Go, go, go!’ Cecilia urged them and they stumbled down the tightest back alley yet. There was a door open, they had to trust it led to relative safety. ‘In here!’

They all followed her inside whatever that house was. As soon as they slammed the door shut behind them, they were face to face with a most peculiar man holding a lantern. His eyebrows were painted in an arch, his face was powdered, his dark eyes glinted with mischief, and he was only wearing trousers with braces over a faded undershirt.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said in a strong Scottish accent. ‘Look what we have here.’

He circled the frightened newcomers, sizing them up like he was pondering how to cook them in a stew.

‘We don’t mean any harm, sir,’ Charlotte offered as confidently as she could, despite gasping for air from the chase. ‘We are only in need of a little cover from the streets. I can pay. Whatever your price.’

‘You will find,’ the man with the lantern replied, ‘that in our humble abode, everybody pays. One way or another.’

His riddle was hardly helpful. Charlotte gulped as he fiddled with her cravat.

‘Although,’ he continued, looking her up and down,. ‘I suppose you may not fancy what we have to offer. Follow me.’

The man with the lantern led them down a tight hallway. They passed some other inhabitants of the establishment, who were in various states of undress as they counted their money and weren’t at all fazed at strangers in their house at this time of night. They were also all men, some grey haired and some as young as seventeen.

‘Through here. We don’t want our guests to think any of you are on the menu. Not even the gorgeous blond one,’ he added with an unsolicited tap on Wilson’s bottom as they scurried into the kitchen. They just caught a glimpse of a salon full of more men entertaining gentlemen with more than just champagne.

‘Great. Good choice, my dearest,’ Charlotte whispered to a scandalised Cecilia sarcastically once she’d caught on.

In the kitchen, there was only one person in there, at the stove, who wasn’t a working lad, or at least not momentarily. This was no place for a woman, but this person’s hair was longer than Charlotte’s, falling in loose curls over a satin robe.

‘Fred? Are we branching out or summat?’ they said in a deep but velvety voice.

‘They just stumbled in from the streets. From the _back_ alley,’ Fred, the man with the lantern, explained nonchalantly. ‘God knows why.’

‘Them? And here I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. Coffee, anyone? Fresh pot. I’ll get you clean cups. In the meantime, do tell me: how do you curl your hair, darling?’

‘W-with cloths,’ Cecilia replied, put on the spot. ‘Overnight.’

‘Well, it’s lovely. And it’s such a lovely shade of red, too. Right, Fred? And you, there, missy, with the scowl?’

‘It’s… it’s natural,’ Charlotte replied awkwardly.

‘Some people have all the luck!’ the long-haired person said and poured them all fresh coffee. ‘Drink while it's hot. You’ll find, despite our humble means, our libations are of excellent quality. As are our other products you can hear through the walls.’

An awkward silence followed. There were indeed some incoherent, muffled noises of all sorts sounding from above. How scandalised the ladies looked! The hosts couldn’t bear it and burst out laughing, which eased the atmosphere.

‘Oh, Fred, I’m afraid we’ve offended their sensibilities.’

‘Not that one’s,’ Fred replied, pointing at Wilson. ‘He’s not offended, he’s smitten!’

Wilson caught himself staring and stammered something about names.

‘I’m Steph for my friends but everyone calls me the “Chatelaine” here. As they should!’ they laughed.

‘You’re not the Chatelaine, here. I am,’ Fred remarked.

Steph ignored him.

‘Now, however the bloody hell did such bright young ladies end up in a shack like this? With a good-looking lad like yourself tagging along,’ Steph added with a wink at Wilson, who was so enormously flustered he spilled his coffee. In his defence, he had never seen such shiny hair and such a confusingly pleasant mixture of everything he found moving in men and women at the same time.

Steph totally sensed the effect they had on the poor lad and so chatted to the women some more:

‘Don’t think we haven’t clocked you were ladies, ladies. Your costumes may be convincing but not convincing enough,’ they pointed out, indicating the diamond ring on Cecilia’s finger that she’d forgotten to take off. ‘We’ve given you shelter. Come on, I’m dying to hear your story. Make it as glamourous and impossible as possible. Delight me!’

Charlotte and Cecilia exchanged a look, and perhaps a conspiratorial smile.

‘The truth is more than we bargained for, as it is, I’m afraid. I was chased by a former suitor,’ Cecilia admitted.

‘A married woman like yourself?’ Steph feigned shock.

‘Married… to a gentleman like your patrons. It’s all a cover, for us, too,’ Cecilia said, taking Charlotte’s hand. ‘My husband, you see, is only married to me on paper. His actual partner is…’

‘My brother,’ Charlotte explained, without names. Their hosts understood. ‘This relentless suitor is just an inconvenience, he just won’t accept that he’s lost. Well, who would? My dearest lady is just a dream,’ she added, happy to freely admit how amazing her love is, among friends. Heart-eyes galore. ‘Such is her beauty that we’ve just been chased through the East End.’

‘Why were you here in the first place, honey?’ Steph asked.

Cecilia shrugged. ‘It’s my fault. I wanted a fun night out.’

‘I can relate,’ Fred said amusedly. ‘Now, I’ve got to attend to the salon. Leave some coffee for me.’ He blew Steph a kiss and left them to it.

‘Excuse me, what are you?’ Wilson asked unceremoniously, drawn in.

Steph chuckled at the looks of outrage and chastising from the ladies’ part.

‘Don’t worry, this handsome lad is not the first to ask. Call me whatever, honey, I won’t be offended. Sometimes I am more man, sometimes woman. I am whatever you want me to be. Do I take it _you_ want me?’

Wilson went red, even in the dim candlelight it was extremely obvious. He couldn’t help it, this man or woman, or whoever the Chatelaine was, was gorgeous. And to his bad luck, very flirty.

‘You’re not the husband, right? I don’t see a ring on your finger, honey.’

‘I’m not… not married…’ Wilson muttered.

Steph smiled and turned back to the ladies:

‘Did your honest husband not wish to accompany you on this grand adventure to the East End?’

‘Oh, he is—oh, this is really good coffee!—he’s visiting a friend in the country.’

‘A friend?’

‘A friend, yes. They have a long history, but we ought not to reveal more. The friend fled England for years. Meanwhile, my (future) husband found the love of his life.’

‘The brother.’

‘Yes. My husband is just visiting his friend, who is a navy man and convalescing from an injury from the war. It’s just a visit. Nothing more.’

‘Or so we think,’ Charlotte added darkly. ‘But my brother’s run after him anyway.’

‘Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?’ Steph guessed.

‘Something like that. We’re hoping they are having a most romantic reunion as we speak…’

_Meanwhile, in Will’s library, the chaise travelled an inch on the carpet with every thrust—they just hoped Mrs Bell wouldn’t wake up and check on them, not now—_

_‘Now…Now, Edward—Don’t stop—’_

_A crash vaguely registered in the back of their minds but for now, they were blind to everything but their shared pleasure._

‘…Either that, or he’ll surprise Alfred and the Captain in a most compromising—’

‘Shh!’

The Chatelaine heard enough despite Charlotte’s shushing of Cecilia.

‘Good Lord,’ Steph said, aghast. ‘But you must be Lady Paget!’

Cecilia nearly spit out her coffee. ‘How did you know!?’

‘Your husband is Lord Alfred Paget and this friend is Captain William Peel, isn’t it?’

‘How…!?’

Wilson nearly dropped his coffee cup as it hit him:

‘You’re the footman!’

***

William grabbed at the empty half of the bed sleepily in the small hours of the morning. He had been troubled by his pain and the biliousness that came with all the strong medicine. He had been adamant about going it alone, as always, but Alfred’s presence had indeed been such a comfort in these past few days that he was changing his mind.

Alfred wasn’t there at the moment, though. But he wasn’t alone. Rubbing his eyes, he made out the silhouette of a man in a chair just by the window, smoking, watching over him. Waiting.

‘Drummond?’

Edward remained in his seat rather stoically, against the backdrop of the rain. Smoking.

‘Where’s—’

‘Stay resting, sir,’ Edward said before William could sit up.

The invalid tried to disobey but he was too weak and medicated to succeed. He lay back, defeated, and groggy.

‘Where’s Alfred?’ he asked distrustfully, poised for a fight first thing even in his sorry state. ‘Have you ordered him to go home?’

‘We both know there is no ordering Alfred anywhere.’

‘Oh, I could tell you about some nights we had that would refute that. He is a quick learner of knots…’

Edward smoked calmly, not taking the bait for once. That was strange. He could never take Will’s naughty quips without being obviously scandalised, not even once. William observed his attire more closely, which was tidy and complete but for his missing frock coat and necktie. His hair, however… and he lacked socks. Which could only mean one thing.

‘Oh, fuck,’ William muttered, rolling his eyes. Edward exhaled, the dissipating smoke revealing a very self-assured face, the face one only wore after... ‘Where is he?’ William asked dryly.

‘He is here,’ Edward reassured him simply. ‘Sleeping.’

William’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t fully hide his surprise. One simply did not tire out Alfred. Edward tried not to seem too proud of himself, but he had had a most gratifying time with Alfred, so he wasn’t all that fussed. Alfred was right—he had been so stuck up without realising. This did him wonders. His father, his office, bloody Russia could go hang. It also allowed him to speak William’s language, so to speak.

‘Which bedroom, just as a matter of interest?’ Will asked, faux-airily. ‘I am glad Alfred’s having fun in my house, but I just cannot have your imprint on my mattresses, no matter how shapely your backside, Drummond.’

Edward didn’t grace him with a reply, or a reaction. Just what Will used to do to him to make him uncomfortable.

‘I thoroughly hope not this one—I should be terribly sorry I missed that show.’

And still, Edward remained calm. But then he _had_ let off all his steam.

‘We were in the library,’ he replied lazily. ‘At first. We broke a lamp. The green ceramic one. Apologies.’

Will wished his arm had healed just to punch Drummond with it. He liked that lamp.

‘I suppose _someone_ had to quench his thirst. How convenient of you to be here, under my roof. Now, get lost, please. You know Alfred will want seconds. He always does. Well, with _me_ …’

‘Yes, he did, and then again upstairs. Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Edward produced a small tin and placed it back in the drawer of the vanity desk, William rolling his eyes. ‘Thanks for letting us borrow that. I didn’t travel thinking I would, first thing, but, oh, well. I knew I could rely on you.’

Will had never seen this side of Drummond, that was for sure.

‘By all means,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Thanks for finishing my job—just so you know, before you arrived, we…’

‘I know.’

‘I didn’t…’

‘I know.’

‘ _He_ did.’

‘I know.’

‘Hm. Must be tough.’

‘What?’

‘Well, doesn’t it bother you? After all these years, and your “marriage”, and your capable _pencil-pushing_ ,’ Will emphasised with a pointed glance at Edward’s crotch, ‘he still wanted me.’

Edward exhaled his cigar’s fumes just a tad more sharply but remained otherwise unaffected by the teasing. He walked over to the bed.

‘I understand you have been medicated.’

‘Why are you asking? Do you mean to test it?’ William asked, somewhat alarmed he might.

‘I already have. I ought to talk to you whilst you are of a sound mind. And, judging by your vulgar quips, you are.’

Edward pulled up his chair and sat by the bed. He was so ridiculously good-looking, with his unbuttoned shirt, his loose curls, the fading moonlight highlighting the handsome angles of his face. Politicians at his age usually began to resemble molten puddings about this time. Not him. He was looking finer every year, if it was possible, like exquisite wine, and this together with this stoic, unusually cocksure act made William want to punch him again, but then, when didn’t he? And he was wearing that contemplative, smartarse expression on his face, like he was the voice of reason for all. Surely, a lecture of some kind was due.

‘I cannot help that he pines for me,’ William went ahead to say.

‘I wonder who pines for whom,’ Edward replied.

‘”Who pines for whom”,’ William mocked him groggily. ‘You know, when I realised I loved men, I thought the whole point of this was to evade having to contend with my lovers’ proprietorial husbands. Feigns I was wrong!’

‘You don’t think much of me, but I assure you I understand you are very important to him.’

‘ _He_ is important to _me_ , too. Did you fuck him just to brag to me about it? I’ve had better things rubbed in my face, you know.’

‘He told me you told him to come home to me. Doesn’t sound like you really wanted him either.’

‘Hm. Perfect couples do share everything.’

‘Did you really?’

‘I did. Why, I forget. Pain? Resignation? Seems there are some wars I cannot win.’

‘We do not have to be at war at all.’

William scoffed. ‘So, is this it? The moment you tell me I have seen the last of Alfred, any last words, which you may or may not relay? If you intend to cause pain, I’m sorry, Drummond, no need. The Russians beat you to it. I’m as wretched as can be as it is.’

‘Please. First of all, Alfred would kill me. And then, I still see no point in violence.’

‘The words of naiveté or cowardice, or both.’

‘Perhaps, or those of a victim, so I know not to inflict pain on others. All I want is peace. You’d say that makes me sound weak.’

‘No, it makes you a hypocrite. Do you also preach that in the war office, deciding our fate on the battlefield from the comfort of your desk?’

‘Call me whatever you wish, sir. I know that I am first and foremost Alfred’s husband, no matter that it bears no legitimacy before the law or your good self. And as a husband, I felt it only right to relieve Alfred of his most devoted watch for at least a few hours. I am afraid that means you are stuck with me. We can converse or not. Makes no difference to me. Do you need assistance with your vials?’

‘Alfred will do it.’

‘I am not going to poison you, sir.’

‘Get to the point, Drummond. You’re not here to nurse me. You had something to say?’

Edward stumped out his cigar and turned quite serious.

‘Fine. But first, let me make something quite clear,’ he said.

William braced himself for the talk attempting to forbid him from Alfred.

‘No sooner would I keep you and Alfred apart as I could come between feuding lions,’ Edward said, however. ‘Not that I want to. He tells me he means to see you through your recovery, and so he shall. I can’t be here all the time. I trust you not to betray my trust. I will not get in the way. Nor shall I attempt to preach about whatever it is that you already know, something about understanding passion, something about your history, or the lack of mine with anyone else but Alfred—’

‘Wait, what? Really?’

Edward ignored him. ‘Let us not pretend. We have never warmed to each other, sir. I have been civil to you for Alfred’s sake, and Michael’s. Alas, quite frankly, I think you are a slimy, vulgar, conceited cad, an outrageous, oily scoundrel, unfit for polite society, not to mention damnably reckless and careless. That self-assured grin of yours sets my teeth on edge, and just the mere thought of you having ever touched Alfred makes my skin crawl. Utterly vile. To call you a cat, a snake, or perhaps a worm would be an offence to the animal kingdom. I suppose these sentiments are reciprocated by you towards myself, and I take that as a compliment. We have nothing in common, nothing whatsoever, and I pride myself on that. I hope we never shall. But I would like to thank you.’

William, who had been rolling his eyes while Edward got it all out, now cracked up.

‘Fuck me,’ he laughed sardonically. ‘What?!’

‘I thank you. For your service, on the first count.’

‘And on others?’

‘I understand you have prevented Alfred’s commission going through?’

‘Oh. That. Was I wrong to interfere?’

‘Must you wonder?’

Will sighed. ‘Yes, he was livid when he learned it, you’re right to want to reproach me—’

‘No, you misunderstand me, sir. Oh, I think Alfred would be a brilliant commander, and he knows it, too. It’s in his blood. He wants to go and he has many reasons to, though one fewer now. But it would kill me to see him sail away, knowing he might not return, or in a similar state as you. God knows I am not myself without him even when I am in a different town. I salute you, captain, for your strength. And you’re going to need it now, as I do have something I need to relay, which may be difficult to hear.’

‘My mother—’

‘She’s fine. Everyone is fine,’ Edward reassured him and took a deep breath, still skirting around the subject, he wasn’t sure why. ‘We have known each other for how long, remind me, sir?’

‘Seven, eight? Since father died.’

‘Hm. I don’t believe we have ever had a conversation, Sir William. Not once, until now.’

‘One of the reasons for this might be that you insist on calling me “sir” even though we’re past that point, especially now that you’ve helped yourself to my toiletries. And to my couches.’

‘The chaise, actually.’

‘Not the chaise…’ Will tutted under his breath.

‘Would you prefer “captain”?’

‘I would prefer you got to the point. _Drummond_. I am keen to take my medication and sleep this through. Potentially forget it.’

‘Very well. It won’t change things, but you ought to know: Michael did not take his own life.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘ _Would_ it help to know? I shan’t proceed if you prefer me not to.’

‘Go on,’ William decided after a moment and listened.

‘His widow made it all up out of fury at finding out that he loved you, I suppose to besmirch his memory. Perhaps to cause you pain, which she obviously succeeded at. But the awful event that has ailed you since that day, it’s all a fabrication of hers. Florence wrote to me a few days ago—she’s Lothian’s daughter, Mrs Florence Walsh, née Kerr. I was once engaged to her, a mistake, of course, but we remained dear friends ever since and she would never lie to me or keep something like this from me. Michael’s widow, Isabelle, confessed to her the truth in a weak moment. I ought to travel to France because I cannot reply to Florence’s letter safely and she obviously wants answers—perhaps it’s time I told her about me and Alfred, perhaps she already knows from Wilhelmina—sorry, I digress. Point is, I trust her word and she told me this: in truth, Michael was saving his son, who had foolishly climbed over the railings of that bridge, and in the end, he… slipped or fell. Apparently, he didn’t suffer. I… I am sorry. I thought ought to know. Alfred agreed. Michael… He was thoroughly happy.’

William did not move or speak, for once. He just stared distantly into the half-darkness. The rain had stopped, the skies were clear now. Birds were awakening and flying out into the dawn. In the room, however, there remained silence. Edward worried Alfred was wrong about this.

‘Perhaps it makes it worse, after all,’ he added apologetically. ‘I am truly not trying to drive a knife in, William, honestly.’

‘No… you… you did right. I just…’

‘Of course, take a moment. I shall leave you.’

‘No,’ William asked, surprising himself, and Edward sat back on the chair a bit awkwardly.

For a minute they just sat in silence, thinking about their late friend. For the first time, Edward kept William company. On his request. For comfort. Stranger things…

‘I’m not sure what to say, William. To think it didn’t have to end, that he’d be by your bedside now if he hadn’t—’

‘No, it is life that can be bargained with, but I know better than to think about death in those terms.’

‘His son survives. And word has it he has a talent for mischief, and for swords.’

William may have smiled in the first light of dawn. He took a minute to revisit every memory of Michael he’d doubted before. All his doubts about himself, about his effect on Michael, also seemed to disappear, and all that was left to remember was the love they shared. He even forgot entirely about his pain for a minute.

‘Thank you.’

Edward hardly believed his ears but did not object. ‘Are we at peace, then?’ he asked.

‘Well… a truce, maybe. I will want that lamp repaired.’

Edward mirrored Will’s faint, conspiratorial smile, though it was cut off by a wince.

‘Would you like me to…?’ Edward indicated the medicine tray.

‘How would _you_ know how to?’

‘I have been shot, after all.’

‘Once!’

‘And that was enough,’ Edward muttered indignantly and got to work, mixing some drops of laudanum in cold tea, with a generous helping of sugar to dim its bitterness.

‘Did you really think so highly of Papa?’ Will asked as he watched him work. ‘That you would have given your life to save his?’

‘Uh… I am not sure what I thought anymore. In that moment, probably nothing, to be honest. I just knew there was a life I could save, whoever’s it was.’

‘Hm. Good,’ William said simply. This from him equalled an appraisal tantamount to a Victoria Cross.

‘Is this enough?’ Edward asked him, showing him the teacup.

‘Yes, for a child.’

There went the appraisal. William made Edward drop some more opium in the cup, double the amount, in fact. He drank up and he was no longer aware of his pain, or his surroundings. The captain was at peace.

For now.

***

‘What footman? Oh!’ Cecilia’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘Oooh!’

‘You’re that footman, you are!’ Wilson insisted in the kitchen of the molly house, of all places.

‘Please, I am not easily offended, but would you _mind_? I’ve not been a footman for years!’ Steph corrected him with pride and closed the kitchen door. ‘Honestly, I’ve got a reputation here.’

‘I wondered what happened. What are you doing in a place like this!?’ Wilson inquired, incredibly intrigued.

‘Well, they didn’t exactly reward my performance with a reference, honey,’ Steph explained honestly. ‘I ran as fast as I could from that ridiculous house! No matter. They didn’t let me wear my hair long, said it seemed “unclean”. Ha! I could tell you tales about the great Sir Robert Peel’s personal hygiene they won’t put in history books! His son, though… I had no idea he ever returned to England.’

‘Oh, for many years now—he’s been away in the Crimea but otherwise.’

‘Really? I’d have thought if he ever returned it’d be a matter of time till he washed up here.’

‘He found someone. It’s complicated.’

‘So I see. Well we’ve all got our lives, don’t we? And you can say I have found my calling. Here, I can be whoever I am.’

‘But it’s not safe.’

‘Bloody Westminster is not safe if you look like me.’

‘But the raids…’

‘How gallant of you to look out for me! I wish you’d come in through the front door, I’d have given you a discount.’

Wilson was more flustered than ever and wished the ladies weren’t gawking at them like that.

‘Who are you and how do you know who I am?’ Steph asked in return.

‘I’m Lord Alfred’s valet and butler.’

‘Ah. That does explain it. Well, lucky Lord Alfred! Sorry about the mess I must’ve caused. But he’s with your brother, did you say, missy? I hope he’s as handsome as you. All is well if it ends well, right?’

Charlotte shot Steph a murderous look.

‘I _said_ sorry! Anyway, I suppose it is risky for you to be here. While this has been lovely, I believe I have a client at midnight, and you need to go home to your shiny palaces on the other side of the Thames, dears.’

‘But Queensberry must still be near,’ Cecilia said nervously.

‘Oh, I think we can outsmart him. Starting with that dress of yours. You, honey, in the trousers, are good to go. But your great lady’s dress is not suited for these streets. I can find you a man’s costume in return. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be able to walk past your madman of a suitor with him being none the wiser. I also happen to know a shortcut to a parking lot full of night cabbies who ask no questions. I’d just love that headscarf in return. How does that sound?’

Ten minutes later, Steph smuggled them all out through the front door. Wilson lingered just for a second.

‘Are you mad, handsome? Hurry. Go, before a constable sees you.’

‘I just… I wouldn’t want you to think I despise you for what happened. I really don’t. If you want to find me,’ Wilson said quickly, fishing for an address card in his pocket to hand over, ‘Anytime. You’ve saved our skins. I’d like to return the favour.’

Steph read the card with an inscrutable expression, and then threw it right on a candelabra.

‘Best not to have that lying around here. I’ll remember,’ Steph said with a smile and kissed Wilson on his reddened cheek before disappearing into the house.

‘Wilson, _come on_!’ Miss Drummond growled and he followed her.

The plan worked so well that Charlotte, Cecilia, and Wilson were in a cab home in no time. There was no sign of Queensberry. The ladies were also busy discussing why Charlotte and Edward’s father would ever show up in a place like the Dirty Duchess. Good thing Edward had resigned: he’d be well shot of any underhand businesses, and Charlotte had this as leverage on their Papa if he ever had one more word against Edward’s career choices or personal ones, as a matter of fact.

Wilson nodded along automatically but his mind was still on Steph, the Chatelaine, when they crossed Westminster Bridge at dawn.

***

_Six months later_

The hotel kitchen was like a busy, steamy, human beehive. After putting his chef in his place, Wood took Wilson through the steam-fogged kitchen and ushered him into an anteroom on the other side of oak-panelled, private dining rooms. He was swamped but never too swamped for gossip.

‘You’ve kept all this in since the summer!?’ Wood exclaimed once he heard the tale of where that mysterious footman showed up. ‘So you’re saying, he ended up in a brothel on the other side of town?’

‘Essentially,’ Wilson confirmed. ‘And it’s not a he—well, it is, but Steph is… Steph.’

‘Alright, someone’s smitten,’ Wood teased him with a flick of his crisp white settee that matched his stiff collar, and those of the waiters swanning between tables out in the dining area.

Wilson went red, as if he hadn’t been a grown man nearing 40.

‘Has he—uh, Steph, called on you, yet?’ Wood inquired.

‘No, but I have.’

‘What, in that molly house? You’re playing with fire. As usual.’

‘I go in the daylight.’

‘“Go”? Regularly!?’

‘Just to say hello.’

‘Yeah, right…’

‘Oi! Can’t I be just friends with someone?’

‘Sure you can. We are friends. Now. But you’re not friends with this Steph and you know it. What do you get up to in that place in the daylight, huh?’

‘Nothing you haven’t done.’

‘Well, that gives you a bit of leeway!’

‘Get off it! I’ll be having to leave London again if Lord Alfred whistles. I’m making the most of my time here. So, yes, alright, I’ve been seeing Steph. So? Someone like that could find something better, you know.’

‘Yourself, you mean?’

‘A job, I meant,’ Wilson retorted but his grin gave him away. He really hoped Steph wasn’t just sweet on him because he was seen as a client, or a fool. He was falling in love. ‘His Lordship’s in need of a housekeeper, but Steph wouldn’t like to go back into service. Albeit, our house is the perfect place, as I keep saying. In case I can’t be convincing enough, I thought… maybe at the hotel…?’

Wood groaned, unconvinced. ‘I’m not sure, Danny…’

‘Back of house, some paperwork.’

‘We’re fully staffed…’

‘What? This hotel is yours. You can do whatever you bloody well wish with it. One more staff member, what’s it matter?’

‘It’s not that. I’ve worked really hard to make this a respectable place.’

‘Rubbish,’ Wilson laughed. ‘The tales you’ve told me over the years about your patrons. His Lordship and Mr Drummond’ve got nothing on what goes on in these rooms upstairs, enabled by you.’

Wood cracked up, too, as Wilson poked him in the chest playfully.

‘I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘Come on, as a favour for me?’ Wilson pleaded.

‘My wife wouldn’t like it, you know.’

‘More rubbish, she’s sailed across the ocean to escape an arranged marriage, she knows far more about the world than you, Walt.’

‘Hm, some days I think she’s running this place, and I am a mere lobby boy!’

‘Serves you right, you bighead.’

Wood laughed that off and bit his lip. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he decided.

‘YES,’ Wilson punched the air.

‘Only for you,’ Wood emphasised. ‘Now, it’s time for the mains.’

‘Go shout at your waiters, big hotel man.’

‘Oh, I will,’ Wood said. Stepping back into the kitchen, he went from being just Walt, the sweetheart he was, to the incredibly serious Mr Wood, the boss, in a flash.

The main courses were impeccably delivered to everyone around the round table in the most glamorous private room the restaurant had to offer, the Edward Drummond Room. To seat the boss’s former employer and benefactor of the hotel anywhere else would be tantamount to treason. The walls were lined with the richest oak and gilded mirrors in which the light of intricate candelabras glistened. Wood poured more champagne for everyone himself, thanked Mr Drummond for his compliments, and left them to it, ushering his waiters well out of there for privacy.

Lord Alfred raised his glass.

‘To William,’ he said, glowing with happiness. ‘Well done on your recovery and on passing your assessment, Captain.’

‘Welcome back to the world!’ Cecilia chimed in.

‘May your days be as adventurous and outrageous as before,’ Charlotte said.

‘To your health, sir,’ Edward added, rather less scandalously.

‘To you,’ Alfred closed the round, with a meaningful look at the guest of honour.

William accepted the praise and some pats on the shoulder and drank gladly. After six months, he was not only back on his feet but he had regained full movement in his arm, and therefore he was perfectly fit to continue service. It was an enormous relief, even if it meant an end to some blissful times at home. His mother visited often, and Drummond was there half the time, but his constant companion was Alfred.

It had been as if they had made up for all the lost time. When they were young and in a tempestuous, erratic relationship, they spent nearly all of it naked, with little time left to simply go out and dine or see a play, where they would not keep their hands off each other anyway. Now that they had got everything out of their system, Alfred could simply keep Will company, tend to him with relentless camaraderie, and return the favour of bringing him fresh gossip while he rested or, with time, gingerly did his exercises in Michael’s garden—they still referred to it like that. Will was a good boy, as he liked to say cheekily but he meant it genuinely. He only flirted at times, because he was like that always, even with Drummond now that he considered him a friend, even though he would never have admitted it outright… so he just communicated his approval of him in winks and naughty remarks.

He raised his own glass next.

‘To Alfred,’ he said. ‘He’s been an uncommonly forgiving and caring friend to me, despite… _everything_. Thank you for helping me. You have saved my life.’

‘No, I—’

‘Shush, the floor is mine, and I say you have. Thanks for that. Thank you for bearing with me when I was at my worst. Thank you for shouting at the doctor to give me medication that doesn’t make me sick. I am sorry for all the sleepless nights. For all that time away from Drummond you’ve sacrificed for me. How fortunate I am to be blessed with such a devoted, affectionate friend. I mean, you bathed me at my weakest, for Christ’s sake, and you never made a move, despite all,’ he indicated his own body, ‘ _this_. You are the strongest man I know.’

‘To Alfred,’ Edward said, raising his glass to put an end to his unconventional toast.

‘No, wait, I’d like to just say that I also thank all of you, even you, Drummond—’

Charlotte cleared her throat threateningly.

‘—especially you, Drummond,’ Will corrected himself diplomatically. ‘I insisted I did not need anybody. I had grown accustomed to being alone. Losing Michael just reminded me of that in the cruellest of ways, and I was my worst self. But there was a reason why I just could not heal, more than physically. My life has been war after war, and I am eager to get back to my life, but I thank you: you have brought me peace in a way I had never known before. So, I would also like to raise my glass to you, and finally, to Michael, who cannot be here with us today, but I think one lives as long as people remember them. He is here with us, as long as we remember him, with love. To love,’ he finished, raising his glass again, at the couples sitting at the table, too, and they drank.

‘And to the end of the war!’ Alfred added and grabbed his cutlery.

‘May I also announce something, before we tuck in?’ Cecilia asked, with a reassuring glance from Charlotte. ‘We have decided to go back to Scotland.’

The men were a bit surprised, they couldn’t hide it, especially Edward.

‘We are not only going there just to escape the city, however,’ Charlotte continued. ‘Not this time. Thanks to Edward’s generous allowance,’ she said, meaning no less than half of Edward’s worth that he flat-out gave her when it seemed he and Alfred had to flee England. He just never accepted her wanting to give it back, as he had more than enough and he slept better knowing his sister had an enormous fortune to fall back on, should any crisis hit. ‘We have decided to build a school.’

‘A school? Really?’ Alfred asked, intrigued.

‘Not just any school, but an equestrian school. For boys and girls.’

‘Well, separately, of course, but—sorry, you tell them, my dearest,’ Cecilia added.

Charlotte smiled, still as smitten with Cecilia as the day she met her.

‘We can do it on our own,’ she continued.

‘No doubt you can,’ Will remarked, remembering all the times she surprised her with her capabilities, even in a duel once, where he was her right-hand man.

‘Right,’ she smirked, trying not to show how fond she was of the captain, for Edward’s sake. ‘However, we thought it would be ideal if you, Alfred, and my favourite brother, Edward, had a hand in this. Hence why the equestrian idea. Alfred, you would be the resident expert, and Edward, I know no one else as able to help us run such an enormous undertaking as this. When we were in Scotland, we had nothing substantial to build other than our own little bubble. Though we were safe, we none of us were truly satisfied. If we established a school, we would have more than enough responsibility on our hands, and not a selfish one.’

‘And,’ Cecilia nudged her.

‘And,’ Charlotte went on, turning to the captain apprehensively, ‘We thought we would name it the Michael Walsh Academy of Equestrian Studies.’

William was a bit taken aback and speechless for a second, then he raised his glass once more:

‘What a splendid idea,’ he said in blessing, brought to a smile. ‘To the ladies!’

They drank again and discussed the plans in detail over dinner. Alfred and Edward decided to give the ladies some privacy, while enjoying their own, and would follow them in about a year to Scotland, to establish the school, and manage it, for the rest of their days, they hoped.

‘And you?’ Alfred asked William later—he didn’t want to ask until quite the end of the dinner.

William accepted the flame Charlotte offered to light his cigar before replying.

‘I’m afraid I’ve grown restless, lovely as it was to have you around, Alfred.’

‘Where to next?’

‘I have been eyeing China,’ he confessed. ‘There’s been some unrest in India, too, they’re calling it a mutiny—it might mean a detour but let us hope it doesn’t escalate.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Edward said.

‘If it does,’ Will finished with a shrug.

‘I can see why he drove you mad,’ Cecilia said to Alfred in a stage whisper. ‘If Charlotte justified sailing around the world with a shrug, I’d throw my shoe at her.’

‘Ah, but Sir William is a free man,’ Alfred quipped, masking his worries at the thought.

‘Absolutely free,’ Will agreed happily, ‘Though, judging by his letters, my aide-de-camp still thoroughly admires me. I’m sure I shan’t be bored on the voyage, wherever I land.’

They laughed at that, Edward a little more uncomfortably than the others.

It was only later, when they were in Grosvenor Place, that he approached him in private. Alfred had fallen asleep on the couch, his head on Edward’s thighs, who dared not speak too loudly. He left the chatter to the ladies and Will, who answered their endless questions about his travels while the cognac lasted. In the end, Edward called it a day, seeing the captain’s exhaustion he never admitted to. He offered him a room, but Will declined and said his goodbyes on the front steps.

‘I’ll be upstairs in a minute,’ Edward told Alfred.

‘Don’t be long,’ Alfred flirted back and, after a sleepy goodbye nod at Will, he followed the ladies upstairs.

Edward stepped over to the captain, who was watching the night sky. It was so cold their breath was visible in the icy air but he didn’t seem to care, for the stars were all shining brilliantly that night.

‘If you were out in the open sea, how would you find your way home?’ Edward asked.

Will smiled and pointed upwards, here, there, as if calculating something, and then to not the sky at all but what he assumed was Alfred’s window above them.

‘Is that why you’re leaving?’ Edward asked, wondering how much Will must hate him.

If Will hadn’t shrugged, Edward might have believed there was a chance he didn’t. But there was no hatred in his eyes, nor resignation. It was almost enviable, how some people were born to go with the flow, not without a fight, but thriving even, and especially, atop the tallest, deadliest waves.

‘We have come full circle, Alfred and I.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Edward then asked, as if in apology—an apology without regret, if that was possible.

William turned to him and placed his hands on his shoulder and his heart to break any semblance of formality between them, because what he had to say was as important to him as his own life:

‘Love him,’ he told Edward.

He let go of him when he detected earnestness in those brown, intelligent eyes of Drummond’s but there was clearly something else on his mind.

‘What else?’

‘No, you’ll hate me.’

‘We’re past the worst of that, I daresay.’

William chuckled. ‘True. In that case… may I have a look at your locket? I noticed you have one, also. You must be wearing it now.’

Edward was obviously surprised. Nevertheless, he fished for it under his high collar.

‘This?’ he asked, clutching the little locket he revealed.

He took it off for the first time in eight years and gently opened it to take a look at the contents: a bed of Alfred’s beautiful, golden hair plaited elegantly on one side, and on the other, the quote “ _Surpassing the love of women_ ”.

He handed it over to the captain carefully. William’s breath hitched upon the sight. He never exchanged anything of the like with him, or any of his lovers. He held it like it was an uncommon treasure rivalling all the wonders of the world. The metal was still warm, like a little drop of life in cold hands.

‘David and Jonathan?’ he asked. Edward nodded. ‘You know Jonathan dies,’ he noted somewhat perplexedly.

‘It is of some personal importance. That quote armed me to defend us, in response to your father’s attacks, in fact, the day he... Alfred chose them; his reads a quote from the _Iliad_ , purely because he’s very fond of it.’

Will laughed, of course, Alfred would choose love over sense any second, which is why he trusted he wasn’t choosing Edward because he was safer but because he simply loved him like he didn’t love William anymore.

‘May I… may I have it?’ William asked of Edward, who was undeniably surprised. ‘You don’t have to, it is a lot to ask, its value is…’

‘On one condition,’ Edward decided reluctantly. ‘That you bring it back, wherever you take it.’

Aside from being relieved Drummond didn’t punch him for the audacious proposition, William was filled with warmth at the thought that this time he didn’t have to leave Alfred behind completely.

‘You’ll see it again, Drummond. That’s a promise.’

Edward would see it again in about a year, delivered in a box together with the captain’s third and final Victoria Cross, for his bravery in India, which he didn’t live to see arrive, as well as a letter written by his utterly distraught aide-de-camp. The locket had a dent in it, too. But then, the Captain was undefeated in battle, so the smallpox had to take him.

That evening, though, they shook hands, and William walked off into the starry night, taking his time to walk home the long way, as if to buy himself more time in the city where his home was.

When Edward walked into their suite, Alfred was just closing the shutters and it was obvious he had seen the scene on the front steps from his window.

‘Aren’t you mad at me?’ Edward asked warily.

‘No,’ Alfred replied sweetly. ‘It was a very noble thing to do. I ought to get you a ring now,’ he pondered, unbuttoning Edward’s collar to find the locket had really gone. All that was there was Edward’s skin that he suddenly longed to kiss every inch of. ‘We ought to have a wedding. We never had one. Let’s do it. Before the ladies go north.’

‘Whatever you want, my love,’ Edward sighed happily against Alfred’s lips, succumbing to the ever irresistible urge to kiss him. ‘We can have a wedding. He can take my locket. I have you. That’s all I need.’

Alfred stayed in Edward’s arms languidly, kissing him, undressing him, feeling him, until it was time to go to bed. Relishing in not being rushed to make the most of stolen moments, one thing led to another, and they made love and lay entangled in their heated embrace as if they had all the time in the world together.

‘Good to be back,’ Alfred sighed against his love’s lips, enamoured.

‘I am rather pleased, too,’ Edward replied, just as smitten.

‘I hoped you would be _pleased_ ,’ Alfred teased him hotly. ‘Are you blushing? After what we’ve just done? After what _you_ asked me to do?’

Edward’s eyes were dark with lust at Alfred’s suggestive thrust against his thighs. Alfred moved to get up and wash the sweat off, but Edward protested, holding him against his own glistening, naked body. He didn’t want things to be sterile and proper and in order anymore. As they kissed languidly and the fire crackled on, even the winter of the world seemed miles and miles away in the warmth of their bedroom.

‘You know, even when we’re apart, I sleep on my side of the bed,’ Edward said.

Alfred chuckled sweetly. ‘So do I, now that I think of it.’

‘I never want to be apart from you again. But you should know that the diplomatic post has come up again, and perhaps I should accept.’

‘Edward—?’ Alfred started immediately, his heart thumping fast from panic.

‘No, listen: before we return to Scotland, I could accept this position and, I thought, you could come with me.’

‘But Cecilia will travel north.’

‘So she should.’

‘Edward Drummond, are you suggesting we go to Italy? Without my wife? Wouldn’t that be too risky?’

‘Worth it, though. We could see Florence and Wilhelmina on the way—their letters are taking up an entire drawer in my desk, we owe them a visit. Imagine, just us, Italian wine, the sun, nobody knowing who we are if we don’t want them to. Strolls down the _piazza_ , no need to button up our shirts all the way. Of course, it’s just an idea—’ Edward was cut off by a kiss. Alfred approved very much, then. Very, very much. ‘Charlotte will be cross.’

‘ _Au contraire_ , she’ll love it. No one will say we helped her with the school.’

‘She’ll be so smug,’ Edward sighed.

‘And we’ll be very tan and spoiled and, yes, please, God, yes, yes, yes, I want to go with you and see you thrive but come home to me every day, oh, and see Venice and the Grand Canal, and the Duke of Modena’s palazzo! This comes at a perfect time: apparently, he’s looking to rent the second floor to someone. We could be that someone…’

They talked about their plans until sunrise, when they drifted off into an easy sleep, unwashed and entangled, sticky from dried sweat, and loving it. This mess was theirs and it made sense to them, and they made sense of it. They would carry it around wherever they went, and build their nests in each other’s arms, wherever they travelled, whatever endeavour they undertook going forward. Whatever got them arguing in the summer, they could hardly remember already, and a new chapter opened in their lives. They’d been misguided in what a marriage ought to be and negotiated their days like married couple indeed, by bickering and arguing and all the wrong examples. Once they realised their marriage is one that’s unique and a new frontier, there were no shoes were flying anymore—only perhaps when they were impatient to fall into bed…

They took risks, but they understood that the real risk was to rest upon each other, as intrinsically as they did. To take the leap and risk it all in each other’s hands. Knowing that one day, it would make parting that much more painful, but knowing also that life was to be lived now, and as richly as possible.

Or so their last diary entry states, preserved safely by their surviving relatives, just as they wished.

[Vol.9, Page 732 – margins]

“ _Lord Alfred would also like to add that champagne is best enjoyed from Edward Drummond’s bellybutton_ —”

“ _Edward Drummond apologises for that. His husband is incorrigible_.”


End file.
